To Be a Bird of Prey: Origins
by CyberQueens
Summary: Part One of the 'To Be a Bird of Prey' series, 'Origins'. Installment #1 - 'The Hunter and the Prey'. Installment #2 - 'The Coveted'. Installment #3 - 'The City Down Below': "You can't save a city with forgiveness".
1. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 1

_A/N: _

_*pulls up podium*_

_*clears throat*_

_Hello! And welcome to the start of what is basically a Birds of Prey Chronicles thing by yours truly. Now, this is going to be a long-ass series of stories - and when I say long-ass, I **mean** long-ass - and it's going to be largely based on my BoP headcanons. And I figured, in the light of recent spoilers - are you as excited as I am? - that there is no better time than the present to kick this off. _

_Now, a few scribbles. This thing is a pain, organization-wise, for the simple reason that it has two sub-categories. First, the general series is **To Be a Bird of Prey**, which then divides into large chunks of the journey, or **parts**, the first of which is **Origins**. That first sub-category splits into another one, which are the smaller **installments** within the part. So, for this first one, it goes To Be a Bird of Prey - Origins - The Hunter and the Prey. _

_So, two sub-categories, and neither FFnet nor Ao3 allow for proper organization for that. So, what I'll do is, post each part as a separate story, and then clearly mark the installments in the headers within those stories. (It'll be a little easier on Ao3 since it allows for series). And I hope you're not as confused by this as I am. _

_And with that epic A/N out of the way, let's get down to business. _

_**Warning for depictions of violence**. It is on the graphic side - no detailed descriptions of evisceration or anything, but this starts with Helena's POV, and well, she does like her violence. _

_That all said, I hope you enjoy! ('cause I really am very excited to be writing this)_

* * *

><p><strong>To Be a Bird of Prey<strong>

**_Origins_**

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter One _

Coast City was beautiful to most people. The long beach, the tall waves and the smell of the sea the wind carried. The heavy sound of military aircrafts every now and then, be it for tests or exhibitions; some people liked that. They stood and pointed – even clapped, sometimes. To them, the city under the sun was beautiful.

Helena didn't see any of that beauty. She came out when the sun went down, and what she saw were the darkness of what lived under the city, and the rats in the sewers.

And right now, she was chasing a rat.

The old subway rails held no light, but the rat did; the bright white glow of his cellphone's flash bounced and flittered, and Helena chased after it. The brittle wood and the gravel crunched beneath her feet while the blood rush thumped loudly in her ear, but she would catch him, any second now. The rat was one of her father's old associates, and he knew where he was; or at least, he knew someone who did. Her father still had friends who helped him hide, but she would hunt down every last one of them, until they finally led her to Frank Bertinelli.

They called her the Huntress after all.

The light grew closer and closer, until she could finally see the man within reach; she raised her crossbow and fired at his leg. He fell down with a yell, and Helena heard the soft crunch of bone when his face hit the inert metal of the rails.

She kicked his side to get him on his back, digging a knee into his gut as she pointed her crossbow right between his eyes. Blood poured from his broken nose and the gash that ran along his cheekbone; her hand found a fistful of his shirt. "Where is Frank Bertinelli?" she demanded.

The rat whimpered. Of course he did. "I – I don't know!" he gurgled, choking on his own blood. "I haven't heard from Frank in a year, p-please, I don't know!"

She didn't have the patience for this. Grabbing him by the throat, she hissed, "Then who does?"

He shook his head, coughing. "I d-don't know, I don't know!"

Helena removed her hand from his windpipe, moving it instead to the arrow she'd put in his leg; she grabbed and twisted. He screamed this time. "Don't lie to me!" she screamed back.

More whimpers and begging came from the rat, before finally, he spilled something useful. "T-the casino by the docks," he said. "Frank had f-friends there, they know – they know where he is, they help him – "

Helena dug her knee deeper into his stomach, to cut off his breath and his words; she had what she needed. She smiled faintly, and rose to her feet, crossbow loaded and pointed at his chest. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p>At night, the docks were right as she knew they would be; dark with foreboding and the uncomfortable sight of the water made black in the corner of your eye. Helena was fine with the darkness.<p>

The casino she had been told about was right in her line of sight, from where she was ducked behind a dumpster; the stench made it clear there was at least one body there to be taken to the landfill for disposal with the other trash in the morning. She was in the right place.

Helena moved slowly, sticking to the wall of the back alley; she needed to find a way in, and to the boss's office. He would have the information she needed.

She had made her way right up to the back entrance, but there were two enforcers there, having a smoke; she could take them out. She raised her weapon, aimed and placed her finger on the trigger –

A shot rang out from behind her, missing her shoulder when she ducked and sending plaster dust flying instead. She rolled to the alley's opposite side, turning her crossbow away from the enforcers and to where she had come from; to the man who had shot at her, and he wasn't alone either.

She fired, putting one of the men down, but three were still left; and the other two were coming at her from the other side, with their own guns drawn. She wouldn't let herself get cornered.

She engaged them, putting her fists to their weak points and backhanding them with her crossbow, dodging their bullets and kicking at their guns where she could. But even with another one down for the count, there were still four left, and soon, her crossbow was yanked from her grasp. She resorted to hand-to-hand combat, and though she could match and surpass any one of them one-on-one, or two-to-one, four-to-one were not odds in her favor.

One of them grabbed her hair, and second later, another had her arms pinned behind her back. She kicked, screaming out in anger.

Soon though, they were screaming, too.

The filthy glass of the back alley windows shattered, along with the lone streetlight that cut the darkness; the high-pitched sound that surrounded them hurt Helena's ears – and the men's, too. They yelled and shouted, and she felt the pair of hands holding her let go and her captor's weight fall away. The men were hunched over, two of them on their knees, and all holding their hands over their ears.

Helena gritted her teeth through the pain and looked up.

Another woman stood before her, hand outstretched and fingers curled around what looked like a ball of bright blue light. Helena focused her blurring sight, and recognized it was a device – and if she had to guess, she would say it was causing the vibrations in the air that made her eardrums feel like they too were shattering as those windows had.

The woman blended in with the black of the night, save for the strands of bleach-blonde hair that stood out against the darkness; it took Helena a moment to realize the noise had stopped.

And that was her cue.

She kneed one of the men on the ground under the chin, enjoying the sound of his neck cracking under the impact; she kicked at his chest to put him to the ground for good. Her crossbow lay close by and she lunged for it, straightening just in time to see the twirl of a bo-staff send one of the other men to the ground. She vaguely heard him say something, spit out some insult as he scratched the ground for his gun; the bo-staff was under his chin next, and his neck snapped with a crack.

Helena felt someone grab her ankle and fired on instinct; the hold loosened and the third man fell at her feet, an arrow in his neck.

She turned around, too see the woman approaching the fourth man; the last one. "I need one of them alive!" Helena yelled, and the woman stopped in her tracks. She turned to the side a fraction, and though the darkness didn't allow her to see her eyes, Helena knew the woman was watching her. Eventually, she saw her nod, ever-so-slightly.

And with that, the woman was gone, just as quickly as she had appeared.

Helena stood unmoving for a moment, eyes trained on the spot where she had last seen her.

The device, the black-on-black get-up, the bo-staff; she knew who the woman was. She was on the hunt and never in one place for long, but she'd still kept tabs on the city she used to call home; rumor went, there was a woman in Starling, another vigilante. She had even been seen with the Arrow once – with Oliver. And rumor also went, she didn't tolerate men who attacked other women.

So, she knew the woman. She didn't know, however, what had brought her to Coast City.

A grunt drew her attention, and to the lone goon trying to get up from the pavement. Helena shook off thoughts of the other woman, and stepped forward. She had a hunt to get back to.

She grabbed the man by the hair, pressing the tip of her crossbow to his neck. Leaning in, she ordered, "Take me to your boss."


	2. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 2

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Two_

The boss did have the information she needed. And he'd given it up, after some persuasion and even more of his men lying face-first on the ground.

This time, the hunt would take her to Edge City.

Sometimes, Helena wondered if all these men were sending her on a wild goose chase. Fear was a powerful motivator for the truth, but there were those who were still loyal to her father. And then there were those who didn't take her seriously, who thought they were better than her. She killed them all anyway.

The fact remained that she had a new lead, and she would follow it through. She would chase the breadcrumbs until they led her to her father.

She was reluctant to leave Coast City yet, though. The woman she had seen the previous night – her presence held Helena back. Whoever she was, the woman was also a friend of Oliver's – she'd worked with him, at the very least. And that knowledge was not something Helena could simply let go.

So, she went on a different hunt this time.

The city's west side held a trail of beat-up rapists, attackers and even purse-snatchers, which was easy enough to follow if you knew your trade. When the sun went down again, Helena followed the trail, to a middle-class neighborhood on the west side; the pattern she had studied helped narrow it down to a ten-block radius. Somewhere in those buildings, there was something that had drawn the attention of the woman in black.

And Helena hoped that her standing on the rooftop of the tallest building would also draw the woman's attention.

She didn't disappoint.

There wasn't even a sound to make her presence known, only the prickle in her gut making Helena sense she wasn't alone. She smiled into the darkness, loaded her crossbow, and turned.

The woman stood before her as she had the night before, bo-staff slung over her shoulder. "You do live up to your name," she commented.

Helena cocked her head to the side. "You know who I am, then?"

"Few don't," the woman retorted.

That was true. In no small part thanks to the one acquaintance they shared.

"I know you, too," Helena said. "You've worked with the Hood" – she rolled her eyes – "or the Arrow, as he likes to call himself these days."

"So have you," the woman told her, nodding pointedly in the direction of her crossbow; Helena narrowed her eyes.

"We didn't exactly part on the best of terms," she spoke, adjusting her grip and her stance. "Which is why I don't like it when I run into one of his friends." She cast a casual glance to the surrounding buildings, bringing her eyes back to the woman with a smirk. "So, I'm curious," she began, "what it is in these buildings that brought you here? This is your comfort zone. There has to be something." She raised an eyebrow. "_Someone_?"

The woman shifted her stance at that, turning hostile. Helena's smile widened; she'd hit a nerve, then.

"That doesn't concern you," came the woman's warning, to which Helena merely adjusted her aim.

"I have an axe to grind with the Arrow," she said. "Any friend of his concerns me."

"So I've heard," the woman fired back, and Helena ground her teeth at the tone. "If you have a score to settle with the Arrow," she went on, "there are more honorable ways to go about it."

Helena had to chuckle at that one. Lowering her crossbow, she prompted, "Indulge me on this one: what did he tell you to lure you in? You see, I know him." She took a step closer. "He uses people. Manipulates them when it suits him. He did it to me. So, how did he _go about it_ with you?"

She received no response, but Helena knew she was right; if the woman had ever met Oliver, then he had used her in some way. It was what he did. Especially to the women in his life. Her personal favorite was when he used women to manipulate _other_ women. Like he had her with the memory of Laurel Lance's dead sister.

She had unfinished business with the Arrow, and this woman in black could be leverage. She could pay some attention to a different kind of hunt, Helena decided, if only for a while.

"The way I understand it, you already have your crusade, Huntress," the woman spoke then. "Stick to it."

Helena didn't bother raising her crossbow again as the woman retreated, and went out of sight.

The woman was right, Helena would give her that; she did have her crusade. But taking orders from vigilantes with a hypocrite's code of honor? She didn't think so.

* * *

><p>Her arrangements in Coast City had definitely become more permanent.<p>

And her run-ins with the woman in black more frequent.

Two weeks in, it almost became a game.

Helena trailed her wherever she went, and sometimes the woman noticed, and sometimes she didn't; of course, the latter was debatable. Helena had observed the woman, studied her, and somehow, she doubted anything escaped her notice; then again, maybe the challenge had improved her stealth.

Helena also had to admit, the woman was _good_. The way she fought, the way she used the shadows to her advantage; from what Helena had seen, very few could match on the woman on any playing field.

Of course, what she _hadn't_ seen held the most interest to her. And that was the source of the woman's stay in Coast City; there was someone in the city the woman had come to see, Helena was sure of it, but as she had also exposed her intentions, the woman had taken precautions and had stayed away from the source of her visit.

Which had led this little cat-and-mouse game they played.

Some nights, it was just a glance. On others, they bypassed each other entirely. And on one particular occasion, Helena had given the woman a helping hand – she didn't care much for vigilantes or their business, but when the save involved taking down men who'd tried to threaten a teenager at knifepoint into blowing them in back alley of a club, she took exception. She'd stood on the club's roof, while the woman dealt the men blows with her staff, and traded her crossbow for one of the guns she carried at her belt. Some people didn't deserve an arrow to the heart. They only deserved a bullet to the head.

The gunshot – and subsequent blood spatter – had scared the other men, and when the woman broke their necks, Helena knew they had died in fear. The woman, whom Helena still didn't really know what to call, had looked up at her then, and nodded.

And then they went back to their routine.

Helena wasn't sure what her primary goal was after a while, whether it was gaining leverage on the woman and therefore Oliver, or just playing this little game of theirs. Either way, she was having fun.

* * *

><p><p>

Another week in, and the fun seemed to be at an end.

Coast City, much like her hometown, was full of abandoned, decaying buildings on its outskirts; Helena had followed the woman to one such place tonight, keeping to the shadows of a nearby rooftop that offered a good vantage point. And then just like that, the woman wasn't alone anymore. Three other figures were in her path now, and they made her pull her bo-staff into fighting stance immediately. Helena counted two men and woman among the new arrivals; their posture and the blackness of their clothes reminded her of the woman's own, but the details on their hoods and masks – those reminded her of the Dark Archer.

Helena crouched low, keeping a careful eye on the party below over the rooftop's edge. They all stood still facing each other, until the man in the middle spoke.

"The daughter of Ra's al Ghul still waits on your return, beloved," he said.

Hearing the words made Helena still. _Ra's al Ghul?_ Ra's al Ghul and his League of Assassins were only a myth – one she'd heard many times in many forms while she circled the world. _Unless…_

She bit down on her lip. That certainly put a new spin on things.

"You know I'm not going back," the woman retorted, much to the others' displeasure, it seemed.

"You will," the other man said, "or we shall take what is precious to you in this city."

Helena narrowed her eyes at the words; so, these three knew who it was the woman had come to see in Coast City. And evidently, their threats weren't appreciated.

"I won't let you," the woman warned.

"You may be stronger than any _one_ of us, _aletyewr alesfera',"_ the man spoke again, "but not three of us."

_Three against one?_ Helena thought. Well, that would just not do.

She loaded her crossbow carefully, propping her elbows on the parapet as she took her aim. She pulled the trigger and the arrow whizzed through the air, embedding itself in one of the men's throat as it sliced through his hood. Now it was going to be two against two. Those were the kind of odds she liked.

Helena leaped to her feet, using the ledge to gain momentum as she jumped down. She landed on one knee, scraping the leather of her glove against the ground. Looking up to the three left standing, she smirked before rising to her feet.

"What are you doing?" the woman hissed at her, to which Helena only took a step closer.

"I like a good fight," she said, aiming at the second man.

He seemed to take her cue.

Stepping to the side, he left his better half to fight the woman, who engaged her quickly, while he went for Helena, drawing a katana.

That was new.

Helena loaded and fired arrow after arrow, which were all met with a slice of the katana; the man twirled it in his hand, made it cut both the air and her arrows as they came at him. She needed a different approach, then. Throwing her crossbow to the ground, Helena backed up a few steps, waiting for the man to come to her.

She ducked under his blade when he swung at her, sidestepping him and hooking a foot around his ankle to try and trip him; he tripped her instead. She pushed her legs over head to keep herself from ending on her back and landed on the balls of her feet; her hands scraped the ground again.

Rising quickly, she ran at him as he did at her, avoiding impact by leaping for a dumpster to the side; she bounced off the metal and threw herself at the man from above. They both went to the ground, his katana sliding out of reach, and when the man used his shoulder to roll them over, Helena wound her legs around his neck. She tried to twist and break his spine, but he hooked an arm around her leg and pulled. She growled in pain when he threw her off; she rolled over and braced herself on her hands and swung her leg in a circle, hitting him at his ankles. He flew back but flipped, landing on his hands before he was on his feet once more. Helena growled again.

She rose, too, resorting to hand-to-hand combat. She met his blows and deflated his kicks, but he was faster than her – and as loath as she was to admit it, _better_.

A punch to her jaw and kick to her stomach had her flying backwards, and her entire body hit the ground this time. She propped herself on her elbows, tasting blood on her lip. She licked it away from the corner of her mouth, narrowing her eyes. Fun over, then. Time to end this.

She rolled to the side and on one knee before rising fully. She reached through the slits up the sides of her coat, to where her guns were holstered against her lower back. She grabbed both, swung them around until they aimed forward; she flicked the safety off with her thumbs and pulled both triggers.

The man went down without another word.

Helena pulled in deep breaths to calm her heartbeat again, and as she looked to the side while she holstered her weapons again and moved to pick up her crossbow, she saw the woman had won her fight, too, and had the last remaining visitor in a headlock with her bo-staff.

"Repeat my message to Ra's al Ghul," Helena heard her tell the woman she had in her hold. "My family is off limits, and his quarrel is with _me_. And make sure his daughter hears it, too."

She waited for the woman to nod before letting her go, and soon, it was just the two of them left again.

There was silence for a moment, before Helena decided to break it. "Family?" she echoed. "So, that's why you're in Coast City."

The woman's hair whipped at her cheeks as she turned sharply; her anger was still written all over her posture and the features of her face Helena could vaguely make out in the dark. "We need to talk," the woman told her. "But not here. Come with me." She moved then, to scale one of the dank brick walls surrounding them.

_Good_, Helena thought, and followed suit.


	3. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 3

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Three_

Another rooftop, another _tête_-à-_tête_; maybe this one would be more insightful.

"So," Helena began, stepping up to the woman who had her back to her, "is that what they call you? _Beloved_?" She pursed her lips. "Or is it that other thing your buddy back there called you, whatever it was? I don't speak Arabic."

"_Aletyewr alesfera'_," the woman spoke, turning around. "It means 'yellow bird'."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "So what you're saying is, they basically called you a canary?"

"I _chose_ to be called Canary," came the woman's reply. "It holds a lot of meaning to me."

Well, at least she had a name to call her by now. "To me, it looks like you flew away from the nest, _Canary_," Helena said, then chuckled. "The League of Assassins," she let out. "I did not see that one coming." With a shake of her head, she took a step closer, and smirked. "And now I'm curious, if you had to _repeat_ your message, then they've found you before – in Starling City, right? And you're _here_ for your family, but I'm thinking you have someone in Starling, too. Now _that_ is interesting."

The tip of the woman's – the _Canary's_ staff was under her chin in the blink of an eye. "You've helped me," she said, "and not just tonight. So, what exactly do you want, Huntress?"

"You know who I am," Helena retorted, "and you're bosom buddies with the Hood, so I think you have a pretty clear idea of what I want."

The Canary nodded. "Frank Bertinelli," she said. "The Arrow, too, obviously. You want revenge."

Helena smiled at that, then grabbed the staff that was still pointed at her, holding it tightly in her grasp. "And you're the best ticket to one of those I've had in a long time."

"So, you want to use me, leverage me, to get back at the Arrow somehow? That's funny, because a couple of weeks ago, you told me _he_ was the one who used people." The bo-staff was yanked out of Helena's grasp with a sharp tug, making her stumble forward a step. "We've been circling each other for a while now, Huntress," the Canary went on, "and I think I've grown fond of you, but if I can challenge Ra's al Ghul for the safety of my family, what makes you think I won't put an end to _your_ threats?"

Helena straightened her spine, raising her crossbow. "You haven't yet," she pointed out. "So, what gives?" She grinned. "You've grown fond of me, have you?"

"Yes," the Canary said, flatly. "There is more to you than your revenge, I can _see_ it, but I also see the _mess_ you're making of it."

Well, that was rude. "You and the Hood – sorry, the _Arrow_ – really are two peas in a pod." She felt her lip curl. "He liked to get all high and mighty, too."

"I'm as much of a killer as you are," the Canary retorted, "so I'm not well-placed to teach anyone morality, but you can't live on your revenge alone."

Helena cocked her head. "And you want to save me from myself, just like he did," she commented. "If you try and sleep with me next, I'll have bingo."

"I am not inextricably tied to the Arrow, and neither are you!" the Canary raised her voice. "You've helped me, and it had nothing do with him."

"Actually, I need you alive for his benefit," Helena corrected. "And like I said, I do enjoy a good fight."

"And the girl you helped me save?"

Helena held her tongue at that, and the Canary seemed to take her silence as victory. "You have your idea of justice," she said. "That's why you want your father dead. Why you want the Arrow to suffer. Why you helped me save the girl in the alley. There are some things you won't stand for, and it has nothing to do with the revenge you seek."

Well, wasn't that nice. Problem was, Helena had been through it enough times to recognize manipulation when she heard it. "So, what?" she challenged, spreading her arms out wide while the Canary's eyes tracked the crossbow she still held a little apprehensively. "I'm better than I think I am, I should let it go – something like that?"

She didn't get her answer right away. Instead, the Canary seemed to think her answer over, and when she did speak, her words were quiet and measured. "Keep in mind where I came from, Huntress," she said. "Once you swear an oath to the League of Assassins, you only have one purpose – to _kill_. And I've seen people get lost in that purpose – not in the sense that they twist it, but they abide by it so strictly that in the end, it's all that's left to them." She paused there and looked over the city, then brought her eyes back to Helena. "And sometimes, I got lost in it, too – until I remembered my family. If I had let myself forget them, I would have never come back. I had to remember I was more than my purpose – more than an assassin. It's hard to truly value what soul you have left until you're on the brink of losing it."

"You're trying to save my _soul_? Really?"

"No." The other woman shook her head. "All I'm saying is, you've found a purpose for yourself; to kill your father – maybe the Arrow, too, right? And it's all too easy to get lost in a purpose like yours. But it's your choice."

"Well, that settles it, then," Helena concluded. "We're done with this little – what? Pep-talk?"

"Just one more thing," the Canary said. "After you've killed your father and made the Arrow pay in whatever way you want to – what happens then?"

What sort of question was that? Helena narrowed her eyes, adjusting her aim.

"When your purpose is over," the Canary went on, stepping closer, so that the arrow's tip was nearly touching her chest, "what will you be then?" At this distance, Helena could finally see the woman's features clearly; freckled fair skin, a dimpled chin and bright blue eyes. If she took off her mask, Helena bet she would be beautiful.

"Why do you care?" Helena answered the question with one of her own.

The Canary's mouth pulled at the corner. "I told you, I've grown fond of you," she said. "And...I don't know if you've noticed, but we kind of work well together – even inadvertently. Imagine if we _really_ put our minds to it."

Helena couldn't help but laugh at that one. "You want to recruit me into vigilantism?" She chuckled again, lowering her weapon. "Sorry to disappoint, Canary, but you should do some fact-checking with your friend back in Starling first. He tried to rope me into it, too." She shrugged. "Didn't work out."

"Well, his isn't the only way," the Canary countered. "You know, I have another friend in Starling," she added, "and she believes in second chances. But more importantly, she believes that the reasons behind our actions are just as important – if not _more_ important than the actions themselves." It was her turn to shrug. "I like to think she's right."

"Again, sorry to disappoint, but I have absolutely no desire to rescue puppies and help old ladies."

"But you do like a certain kind of justice," the Canary stated. "And some debts need to be paid in blood." She took another step closer – so close, her eyes were the only thing Helena saw. "And once you've collected your debt, you'll need something to fall back on."

There was a voice in her head, and she hated it, because it taunted her – it told her the Canary was right. It tortured her with images of Michael, alive and dead. Being good and noble got people killed, like it had him, and once you had nothing left to love, you were only stuck with the things you hate – like her father. Some debts did need to be paid in blood.

But Michael had been all about love. Love for her, love for justice, love for _life_ – and Frank Bertinelli had taken it all away from both of them. She had no one left to love these days – though she did love the hunt. She loved to make people _pay_.

Michael wouldn't have liked that.

But he was dead.

It was a nice thing, she supposed, to have something 'to fall back on'. Something to love. But you needed to be at peace to have love, and she would not have peace until her father was dead, too.

"So, what are you suggesting?" she asked the Canary. "We pack up, go globetrotting together? Thanks, but I'll pass."

After a beat, the other woman nodded. "All right," she said. "You have a job to finish, I get that. But how about I help you finish it?"

That one, Helena hadn't seen coming. She knew the vigilantes' manipulation playbook by heart, but this was new. It must have shown on her face, because the Canary was almost smiling now. "I can help you find your father," she went on with her proposal. "I'm good at finding my targets. I'll bring you to him. And you can kill him, finish your crusade. You saved me tonight. I owe you. And this is how I can repay you."

That just...felt like a trap.

"I told you, I'm not like the Arrow," the Canary added, seemingly sensing Helena's line of thought. "You have a score to settle, I can understand that. And I owe you a favor. Once your father is dead, we can go our separate ways. Or you can try and use me to get revenge against our hooded friend. Or – " she smiled wider this time – "you can come with me."

It sounded like a good offer. _Too_ good, in fact.

"That all sounds very nice," Helena said, "but you know what they say. Don't take candy from strangers."

The Canary nodded, as if to say she understood. She surprised Helena again when she gestured to her mask and what was obviously a wig, then spread her arms out; she was telling her to unmask her, Helena realized.

Though it all still felt like a trick, she couldn't help her curiosity. She raised her free hand slowly, watching for any sudden movements, any indication of an impending trap; she got neither. Her fingers curled around the wig's coarse strands, and when she pulled, it came off, along with the black mask.

Even as her hand fell back at her side, still clutching the wig, Helena recognized the woman's face; she'd never met her, but she _knew_ her. And it was the biggest surprise of the night.

"My name is Sara Lance."


	4. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 4

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Four_

_Sara Lance_.

The female vigilante hopping from Starling to Coast City, the Canary being hunted by the League of Assassins – it was Sara Lance.

She'd been at her grave – empty though as it was. Oliver had taken her there. Held her hand as he used the memory of the dearly departed Sara Lance to manipulate her.

Her anger came quickly, and it burned white hot. She threw the wig back at the woman – at _Sara_ – and raised her crossbow again. "Is he making you do this?" she spat, pulling sharp breaths through her teeth. "He's using you to manipulate me _again_!"

"What are you talking about?"

Sara sounded surprised, but she could be faking it – like she had faked her death, evidently.

"It's not enough that he takes me to your grave, makes all these speeches about guilt and purpose and understanding, he has to send you in person to do the dirty work now!"

"Helena – "

"Don't you dare!" she yelled. "You don't know me!"

"Listen to m – "

Helena sent her arrow flying; even with the small distance between them, Sara's hand came up, and caught it. Her fingers curled around the shaft, with the arrowhead just against her heart; she looked down at it, then back up. Helena didn't care for the warning she saw there.

With a growl, she tossed aside her weapon and charged; the staff came between her and her target, and she grabbed it with both hands. _Sara_ tried to throw her off but Helena countered it, putting her strength into a shove to the right and catching the other woman in the shoulder with her own staff.

That seemed to piss her off. _Good_.

The bo-staff was suddenly split in two, with one baton in each of Sara's hands, Helena parried the blows, taking the metal's sting on her elbows, until she had her opening. She slipped her arms in-between her opponents, pushing outward and sliding her hands along the black leather of Sara's sleeves until she had grasped both halves of her staff in her hands; she held her there, then threw herself forward and headbutted the other woman.

She went down, and Helena had her weapons. Sara didn't stay sprawled on the dirty concrete long and rolled into a crouch, like a animal waiting to pounce; Helena wasn't unlike one, either.

She brought one of the batons down but it only screeched against the ground as Sara moved out of its reach; then, she hooked an arm around Helena's ankle. They both went down, the batons rolling away from either's reach. Sara tried to gain control and stay on top but Helena brought a leg around her hip and pushed, throwing her off balance and on her back.

She could taste dirt and blood and the stringy feeling of her own hair in her mouth but Helena still aimed her blows at Sara's face; screaming out every time she missed or one of her punches was blocked. She did manage to get in one decent blow to Sara's jaw before she got one to her kidney, courtesy of the other woman shoving a knee to her lower back.

Next thing she knew, Sara was extricating herself from beneath her and she was being hauled back up her feet, with Sara behind her and her forearm against her windpipe; she latched onto it with both hands and growled again.

"You need to calm down," she heard the hiss in her ear, drowned out by the blood rushing to her head.

Helena didn't speak, only pulling heavy breaths through her teeth, which Sara seemed to take as her cue to keep talking. "I didn't know about what happened with Oliver," she said – obviously, they were dropping the last of the pretenses. "I'm still not sure what it was he did exactly, but I am not your enemy. And you need to calm down."

With another cry, Helena bucked and tried to throw her off again; this time, Sara let her.

Helena stumbled forward, swallowing past the sob of anger in her throat as she whirled around. "He told me he would never hurt me!" she shouted. "After I told him everything, he promised – he _promised_ me! – that he would never hurt me! But last time I saw him, he was shooting an arrow to my chest!" She gulped in air, clenching her fists. "And he made me that promise while we were at your grave – " she jabbed her finger in Sara's direction, the adrenaline making her hand shake – "he took me to your grave to manipulate me! To lie to me! All that big speech about how sleeping with you hurt those he loved, how he was selfish, how he watched you drown – he lied about that, too!"

Sara had dropped her gaze to the ground. Helena watched her close her eyes for a moment, lick her lips, then take a deep breath. "I didn't know," she repeated quietly. "And the truth is, Oliver and I have a much more complicated history than you know." With another deep breath, she stepped closer again; Helena backed away. "But I'm not him," Sara said. "And I don't work _for_ him. Whatever he did to you, it has nothing to do with me."

Helena let out a chuckle at that; she hoped it sounded as bitter as it felt.

After a moment, Sara nodded. "Well, my offer still stands," she told her as she bent to pick up her mask and wig and pulled them back on. "If you change your mind, I'm sure you'll find a way to let me know."

Helena didn't bother chasing after her when she leaped off the rooftop.

* * *

><p>For the first time in a long time, Helena walked the city in daylight.<p>

She had a wig, glasses and a hat, so it was doubtful anyone would recognize her – if anyone were still even looking for her.

It felt odd, to adjust her sight to sunlight instead of darkness, to feel the scalding heat on her skin. She strolled down the beach, finding a spot where no one ventured to by the rocky part of the shore; she still preferred to be alone.

The loneliness was what she knew now, and honestly, she liked it that way. That day, at Sara's grave, she'd told Oliver that Michael would be the last person she had ever let in – and Oliver had found a way to worm around her words, to make her believe that it would be safe to open her heart again. And then all he'd done was to confirm that she'd been right in keeping it locked away.

Letting people in meant depending on them. Trusting them. Having faith they wouldn't betray you. It was, essentially, what Sara Lance was asking her to do. But she was done with all of that.

Still, some of the things the other woman said had resonated with Helena. The need for something to fall back on – and more than that, the dispensing of justice. _Her_ justice. Helena liked that idea.

Of course, trusting Sara Lance was not an option; not even if she had believed her for a second in her 'good and honorable intentions'. A favor for a favor? It was a nice idea in theory, and from what Helena had heard, a member of the League of Assassin was as deadly as they were honorable – in their own way, of course. They followed their code. Except Sara had broken it – and if she could break an oath made to Ra's al Ghul, what on Earth would make Helena believe that she would uphold her word to _her_?

But the thing was – the annoying, infuriating thing was, Sara had broken her vow to come back to her family. She'd done it for those she cared about – those she _loved_. And Helena, too, had started her crusade because of the one person she had loved with everything she had in her. In the end, there was only one thing you were truly loyal to, and Helena could understand, though she hated it, why Sara had made her choice.

But to make an alliance with someone so close to Oliver? That was – it was unthinkable. Oliver's friends were her enemies.

Then again, a member of the League of Assassins helping her track her father? That would end her hunt in a matter of weeks.

_And what happens then?_

She could go after Oliver. Settle their score once and for all.

_And after that?_

Honestly, she had no idea. She didn't have many plans beyond finishing her hunt.

Working – in the loose sense of the term – with Sara could be a way to kill two birds with one stone; her father would receive an arrow to the heart, and in the aftermath, Helena could still find a way to leverage the 'Canary' against her dear friend, the Arrow.

Of course, she doubted Sara was a fool – and she definitely knew she wasn't easily beaten. But maybe, if she played her cards right...

Helena rose to her feet, and couldn't help her smile. Her hunt was about to get interesting.

* * *

><p>Letting Sara know she would accept her proposal took a bit of time. Five days, to be precise.<p>

Helena decided that the best calling card she could leave was a trail of her own for the Canary to follow; that was, after all, kind of their thing.

She kept to a specific zone on the east side, going after the kind of low-lives Sara had an affinity for; rapists, musclebound creeps who liked to bully women, self-important men who thought that they had the right to get more than they'd paid for from a prostitute. And Helena had to admit, she'd very much enjoyed taking down every last one of them.

On the fifth night of her routine, Sara found her in a vacant parking lot.

"I've decided to take you up on your offer," Helena told her, then smirked. "Let's go find my father."

The other woman stepped closer. "Do you know where we should start?"

"Edge City."

After a moment, Sara nodded. "Then let's go to Edge City."


	5. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 5

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

**_Origins_**

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Five_

If there was any place more corrupted than Starling, it had to be Edge City.

Walking by the riverbank, you could smell the stench of the sewage – and all the bodies floating in the water, if you knew how to differentiate between the two. Helena certainly did. She assumed Sara did, too.

Playing roommates with Sara Lance was weird; they'd mostly spent their first evening in the city looking for a place to stay. Helena would have been content with any of the abandoned factories or squatters' save havens – hell, a storage room. But Sara wanted a good vantage point.

So, here they were now, camping out in the bell tower of an abandoned church – which, Helena had to admit, was kind of funny. Two killers, about to do more killing – hiding in a church.

"Aren't you worried God will smite us down?" Helena commented once they had settled, directing her question at Sara's back; from the few hours they'd been here, she'd gathered that the other woman had a thing for staring out the windows and into the night.

It took a moment for Sara to respond. "I killed a priest once," she informed, not turning around. "At the altar, after his sermon. If God didn't smite me then..."

Helena raised an eyebrow, then asked, "Ever killed anyone I'd know?"

Another bout of silence. "Could be."

Helena had also gathered that Sara had thing for being vague and cryptic. Rolling her eyes, she prompted, "So, what's the plan? I mean, I have my methods, but I'm thinking you have some tricks of the trade that I don't."

Talking shop seemed to be the way to get Sara to pry her eyes away from the city down below; she turned around, then said, "Well, you brought me up to speed with your father's contacts in this city, so that's a place to dig. But," she added, "that draws attention. The best way is always to go to those your target never sees – the shop owner at the corner, the homeless. And of course, then there's observing your target or their associates without engaging."

"What, no tracking credit card activity in the assassins' textbook?" Helena quipped.

Sara pursed her lips. "The League doesn't exactly...keep up with the times. Not if they can help it." She shrugged. "Besides, that's not my area of expertise, and I'm pretty sure it's not yours either." She seemed to have a thought then, so she added, "My friend is Starling could help with that, though I don't think I can ask it of her."

"Is this the same friend who believes in second chances?"

"Yes."

And that confirmed the nagging feeling she'd been having about this female friend's identity, Helena thought. "Yeah, I don't think she'd be willing to help on this one."

Sara must have felt the undercurrent in her voice, because the next question leaving her mouth was, "You know her?"

"Felicity Smoak, right?" At Sara's nod, Helena said, "We've...met. And well, let's just say I'm _positive_ she wouldn't want to help with anything to do with me." Not if she weren't under duress, anyway.

And Sara seemed to pick up on that line of thought. "What did you do to her?"

"Easy on the judgmental tone there, birdy," Helena told her, though it only made her narrow her eyes, plant her feet – and wait for her answer, evidently.

Eventually, and mindful of the game she was playing, Helena obliged. "Last time I was in Starling," she said, "I...made her hack into the FBI database while pointing an arrow to her head. Then I tied her up and left her on her office floor."

Sara went dead silent at that, though Helena could practically _feel_ the judgment hitting her square in the face. "Hey, you still owe me, remember?" she reminded.

"I haven't forgotten," Sara said tightly. Then, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I can try and kill _you_, but threatening _Felicity Smoak_ is a deal-breaker?" Helena couldn't help but comment.

"I never said I completely agreed with your ways," Sara deadpanned. "And our deal still stands," she added. "I _will_ help you find your father."

"Good."

Sara shook her head, as if to rid herself of whatever she was thinking, and said, "We can start tonight. You said there's a branch of the Italian mob here your father would go to for help – we'll start there."

Helena nodded. "The Sabatoni family. Gotham got a little too competitive for them, so they moved their business here." She shrugged. "Johnny Sabatoni and my father were good friends – which is why Guss Sabatoni represented my father. I may have killed Guss and run the Bertinelli empire to the ground, but old loyalties die hard."

"What businesses do they own?"

"Restaurant chain," Helena informed, then smirked. "Italian cuisine."

"And I'm willing to bet there are regulars coming for the leftovers in the back alley," Sara said. "We'll do the rounds, see what we can gather." She paused for a moment, then pursed her lips. "You don't happen to have any money on you, do you?"

Helena only raised an eyebrow in response.

Sara nodded, moving to slide her mask and wig in place before she secured the two halves of her bo-staff at her belt. "We'll rob a store on the way," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>They had gone through three restaurants before they caught a break.<p>

As Sara had predicted, they had come across the homeless next to the back alley dumpsters, either digging for food, or settling in for the night. Sara had been the one to talk to all of them. Helena had to admit, for a hardened assassin, she had a way of being persuasive without using force or intimidation; and the question of why they had broken into an electronics store and emptied the cash register was answered when Sara had given each person she spoke to a wad of bills.

However, none of the four they had found had the information they needed.

The fifth one, at the restaurant just a couple of miles away from the docks, did have something interesting to say.

Helena stood by the side and watched Sara go through the motions with the homeless woman they had come across; telling her not to be afraid, not approaching until the woman felt safe, giving her some money before asking the questions, then coaxing the answers out of her.

And at the end of it, what they knew was that there'd been a shift in the routine recently; the walks from the restaurant to the docks had grown more frequent, the shop had closed early twice in the past week, and there'd been a new kind of leftovers being dumped, which the woman didn't like. She didn't like the way if felt under her teeth, she said. Also, it had tentacles. She hadn't seen any in two days, though.

After Sara had given the woman the rest of the money and wished her well, she and Helena stepped to the side. "That bit about the new food caught your attention," she stated.

Helena nodded. "You saw their menu in the window," she said. "Seafood isn't on it. But my father," she added, "he likes seafood. Actually, his favorite is a calamari stew – hence the tentacles." Her lip curled. "He was here. He _ate_ here."

"Probably slept here, too," Sara supplied. "But, assuming that they were making the dish for him, he hasn't been around for two days." She glanced to the side then returned her eyes to Helena, and asked, "Do you know where...Johnny Sabatoni would be?"

"I know where he lives."

"Okay," Sara declared, already moving; Helena trotted along. "We'll need to circle back to that electronics store. Then we're going to Sabatoni's house."

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you benched me," Helena muttered, from where she was crouching in the bushes behind the back fence of Sabatoni's mansion.<p>

"_I couldn't take the risk of you losing it and killing him_," came Sara's dry reply in her ear; as it turned out, the purpose of their second electronics store break-in of night was to get a couple of bluetooth earpieces. And the purpose of said earpieces was to get Helena to crouch in untrimmed bushes while Sara sneaked into the mansion in search of Johnny Sabatoni. Apparently, she was worried about Helena's self-control – or lack thereof.

Helena had to say, she took offense in that.

But it was easier to swallow her pride than try and argue with an elite – and reformed, according to her – assassin.

So, she was crouching in the bushes while Sara scaled the fence, avoided the security, picked the back lock and made her way through the house in search of Sabatoni; it was sort of impressive, Helena was not above admitting.

"Anything?" she asked.

"_Staff seems to be sleeping_," came the hushed reply. "_But I see lights on the second floor._"

Sara moved so quietly, Helena couldn't even hear her breathing; the house was quiet, too. She couldn't hear any ambient noise, either.

She waited and waited, until finally, there was the softest creak of leather in her ear. And she could hear a muffled voice, as if it were coming from behind a door. In the quiet, it sounded as loud as if it were coming from right next to her.

"_Found him_," Sara whispered. "_He's on the phone with someone. Listen._"

Helena strained to make out the words, closing her eyes and regulating her breathing so as to put better focus on her hearing.

" – _telling you, Frank, she's here_," she heard the distorted words in her ear. "_My – saw her coming – _"

She found the urge to as much as clench her teeth; Sabatoni was talking to her father. About _her_. He knew she was in Edge City.

" – _we knew she would – Sal talked in Coast – _"

" – _got you out in time_ – "

" – _know when she leaves – get you back here then_ – "

That was the last she heard of it, and realized Sara was moving out. "Wait," she hissed, but got no answer. She growled in frustration, then rose to her feet; the rendezvous point was down the road, three houses away.

She waited in the dark for a few minutes before Sara appeared in sight; she really did blend in with the night, save for that mop of bleach-blonde hair she sported.

"Why the hell did you leave?" Helena demanded. "We barely got anything!"

"We got _enough_," Sara said, with an air of finality; it annoyed Helena. "We know your father was here," Sara went on, "and we know he'll be returning as soon as Sabatoni's eyes and ears in the streets tell him you've moved on – I'd say he'll probably have a few baits lying around, waiting to send you in the wrong direction."

"Which is why you should have waited until he mentioned the _right_ direction!"

"We don't need that information," Sara told her, like she was talking to some incompetent, hotheaded child. If she didn't need her, by God, she would –

"Instead of chasing after him," Sara went on, "we'll get him to come to us."

_Wait_ – oh, that sounded nice.

* * *

><p>"So, what's the plan?"<p>

Helena made to put her mask away, only to realize she didn't have anything to actually put in _on_ – with a sigh, she sat on the ground, arranging her crossbow and mask in a nearby pile. Sara, of course, remained standing.

"You heard Sabatoni," Sara said. "Your father will be circling back when he knows you've left Edge City – or _thinks_ you've left."

This was getting interesting. "As I assume I won't be going anywhere, how will we fool him?"

"I will need your clothes and mask – and another wig."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Sabatoni's men are obviously keeping an eye on the ways in and out of the city," Sara said, "which is how they know you're here. We didn't come in together, which works to our advantage – if I dress up as you and leave, then come back as myself, it will create the illusion that you're not around anymore." She smiled triumphantly. "And your father will walk right into your path."

That was – it was kind of ingenious, actually. Of course, there was no guarantee the Canary _would_ be flying back, and not just slip away. "Suppose I agree, how do I know you won't just disappear on me?"

Sara pursed her lips, and with a sigh, discarded her mask and wig. "You know who I am, Helena," she told her. "You know who my family is."

After some deliberation, Helena nodded; true, she did have some leverage – which she was fully prepared to put to good use if crossed. Not that she wouldn't use it anyway, but that was not the point.

"Okay," she agreed. "So, how will this go?"

"You usually stay a few days or a week in one place, right?" At Helena's nod, Sara added, "So, we'll wait a couple of days, and you can go after the red herrings Sabatoni has set for you, at which point I'll leave the city as you, and you will just sit tight. And after I get back, we just wait for your father to return."

Sounded like a plan. "So...we'll be here a while?"

Sara nodded. "We'll be here a while."


	6. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 6

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

_**I. The Hunter and the Prey**_

_Chapter Six_

The sun was blaring down on her, making red spots dance behind her closed eyelids.

Helena turned over to the other side, feeling the hard ground dig into her shoulder, and was met with the same problem; she sighed and rolled over to her back before opening her eyes. It was to the sight of the empty space where the church bell used to be – or at least, Helena presumed there used to be a bell.

What she could say with absolute certainty, though, was that there were no shutters here. No glass windows either, actually; just holes in the wall that let the sun right on in. But hey, Sara had wanted 'a good vantage point'.

"Morning."

Helena turned her head to the side, to find Sara sitting with her back against a support beam, a coffee cup in one hand and a sandwich in the other. So, the Canary bought breakfast, then.

Pushing herself off the ground, Helena worked the kinks in her neck before hopping to her feet. Sara nodded in the direction of a paper bag on the ground. "Didn't know your preferences," she said, "so you get a turkey club sandwich and black coffee – there's some sugar on the side, though."

As far as breakfast went, it was pretty luxurious compared to her recent standards. Deciding she didn't want to get on the ground again, Helena picked up the bag and opted to eat standing up; she reached inside and grabbed her cup, taking an appreciative whiff before bringing the rim to her lips. "I take it we didn't spend all the money on helpful informants last night, then?" she commented, to which Sara gave a faint smile. Helena took a moment to look her over; it was a little strange seeing her in street clothes. She looked – well, normal. Just your regular blonde.

"Speaking of informants," Sara said, "you'll need to make your own rounds tonight. You'll know where to look for the Sabatoni's men, right?"

Helena shrugged. "It's the Italian mob. You always start at the docks."

"Which is also where I'm pretty sure your father will be coming through."

"It's convenient." Helena smiled. "The river's right there for the body drop."

Sara kept quiet for a moment, seemingly considering something. Eventually, she asked, "You're really looking forward to it, aren't you? Killing your father?"

Was that some more moral judgment she was hearing? "It's all I look forward to these days," she said.

"Well, you'll get what you want soon enough," was Sara's response.

Helena tipped her head to the side. "Does your help always come with passive-aggressive lessons in morality or am I getting special treatment?"

"I told you, I'm not well-placed to give lessons in morality to anyone," Sara reminded. "But even though we're both killers," she added, "I still don't know what it's like to feel what you feel." Her eyes went to the cup in her hands, and more quietly, she said, "There's only ever been one man I wanted dead for having wronged _me_. Someone else killed him."

Curious development, Helena thought. Though she supposed it did make sense; if what she'd heard about the League of Assassins was true, and she believed it was, then its members were sent to kill whoever Ra's al Ghul told them to. It was never personal for them. For Sara. Not the way it was for her, with her father.

"Do you wish you'd killed him yourself?" Helena asked, idly wondering if this could be called bonding.

Sara raised her eyes away from the cup and to the side. Helena knew that look; haunted memories and all that. "I don't think it would have made that much of a difference," Sara eventually spoke. Helena gathered from her tone that she wanted to leave it at that. Which was fine by her.

For her, though, it would make all the difference in the world to get a chance to put her father down herself.

"So, I'm thinking I could go after Sabatoni's men tonight," she changed the subject. "And tomorrow night. You can pull your little bait-and-switch after that."

Sara nodded.

And then came the awkward silence.

Helena wasn't used to roommates these days – especially not vigilantes who called themselves after birds. Apparently, neither was Sara. So, they stood and sat there in silence – and they had nothing to fill it with.

When she could practically feel herself twitching from the discomfort, Helena prompted, "So, what do you usually do to pass the time 'til sundown?"

Sara looked about as uncomfortable as she felt, and Helena thought there was some solace in that.

"Usually, I just – train, I suppose," the other woman said. "Sometimes, I go to an actual gym – mostly to use the shower."

Helena couldn't help but crack a small smile at that. "Interesting," she remarked. "I usually break into empty houses for my showers."

Sara looked like she was about to smile, then realized it hadn't been a joke; she raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're serious."

"I like to take my time with a good bath."

There was a beat where it looked like Sara might laugh, but it soon passed and she merely nodded. "Well, I think I will go for my shower now," she announced, rising to her feet in one swift motion. She shoved a baseball cap on her head – a Rockets' one, Helena noted – and slung one of her smaller duffel bags over her shoulder. "See you later."

And with that she was out – through the hole in the wall that might pass as a window. Because stairs and doors were obviously for crazy people.

Helena rolled her eyes to herself, casting a look around the place as she finished her sandwich. Maybe she could make a little daytime run to the town, too.

* * *

><p>"Should I have left you an allowance?"<p>

The question came as just her arrow pierced the makeshift target she'd set for herself, and Helena didn't even bother looking up from reloading her crossbow to answer Sara's question.

"I can rob a store just fine," she declared. "Even in daylight."

"And you did it to...steal drapes?"

Helena did look up at that, to the soft, shimmy fabric she had set over the – well, holes in the walls. She shrugged. "I like purple," she said, letting her eyes linger on the play of light against the material; the bright spots where the sun hit, and the darker shades on the outlines.

She brought her eyes to Sara as she added, "And I _don't_ particularly like waking up to the sun blaring down on my face."

Sara pursed her lips, then just shook her head. She discarded her bag and cap, tossing them aside, and seemed to have every intention of just going about her business until Helena fired again; the hiss of the flying arrow made her whip her head around. "Do you have another one of those?" she asked, her eyes flickering towards the crossbow.

Helena raised an eyebrow. "In my bag," she informed and when Sara went to retrieve the spare crossbow, commented, "I thought your thing was that multifunction bo-staff you carry around."

"I'm versatile," Sara responded – a little cheekily, Helena thought. The other woman came to stand at her side, shifting her stance to take her aim; Helena noted that it was not exactly perfect.

"Not too used to a crossbow, though," Sara added as she pressed the trigger, hitting to the right of the target's center. "I'm better with just a bow and arrow."

Helena could practically taste the bitterness on her tongue. "He roped _you_ into it, too?"

Sara kept her eyes on the target for a moment longer, then looked sideways; Helena frowned at the slight smirk on her face. "I didn't get it from him," she said, but even as she spoke the words, her smirk slipped, and her tone grew softer – more intimate. She faced away again.

Helena dropped her own gaze to the ground before focusing it forward, too. "That guy in Coast City," she spoke, "there's a good reason why he called you 'beloved', isn't there?"

Her answer was the release of another arrow.

With a cluck of her tongue, Helena remarked, "The daughter of Ra's al Ghul is an archer, too, then?"

She almost expected not to receive an answer, when Sara said, "Yes, she is."

So, the daughter of Ra's al Ghul called the Yellow Bird her beloved; it was a good thing to know, Helena supposed. "That guy also said she's waiting for you."

"Yes, she is," Sara repeated, then met Helena's eyes. "But I'm not going back." With a quiet sigh, she added, "I don't regret running away, but if there's one thing I could miss, it'd be her."

"Well, you should think it through better," Helena advised, taking her own shot and hitting dead center. "Losing someone you love makes you..._vengeful_." And somehow, she doubted the daughter of Ra's al Ghul would take kindly to being left behind.

"I know," Sara said simply, and reloaded her crossbow.

* * *

><p>This was no fun.<p>

These men didn't have any information for her, nothing she wanted from them; as she took them out one by one from her vantage point atop one of the shipping containers by the docks, Helena felt more like an executioner than a huntress. _No_, she decided. _No fun at all_.

Once the deed was done, she headed for the club she'd heard of from her father; he always talked about it after his trips to Edge City. Sabatoni's men were there in clusters. Maybe she'd engage them in a fight; at least then she would get _some_ fun out of this whole deal.

Thinking on it, she decided that Johnny Sabatoni _had_ probably promised his men a fight – oh, he'd warned them of the danger for sure, and they probably knew already, but they'd probably also been under the impression there was a chance for them to take her down. _Fools_.

She did take her time at the club, after having spotted the particular group of planted possible informants waiting for her; she fought them, let them think they'd gotten the upper hand at one point, too – if only to spice things up a little. In the end, she put them down, too.

Back in the bell tower, she found that Sara had already returned from her own stroll through the streets; it had been her idea to take the spare crossbow tonight, to further the illusion that the Huntress was truly the only one in town. After some internal debate, Helena had allowed it.

The crossbow lay discarded now, as Sara was it the process of beating one of the steel grids with her batons. The impact of metal against metal echoed in the tower.

It clanged and clanged and clanged, and it hurt Helena's head.

"Would you quit that?" she snapped, after having discarded her own garb. Shacking up with the Canary was one thing; listening to her drill holes in her skull with her 'training' was another one entirely.

It took a moment for the noise to stop, as Sara lowered her weapons. "Only if you are willing to offer a better challenge," she retorted.

Helena raised an eyebrow, then grinned. Now _this_ should be fun.


	7. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 7

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Seven_

Sara revved the engine, spurring the bike into movement.

It had taken some adjustment to feel at ease in this new disguise. The wig was longer and smoother than she was used to, and it had been a solid hour until she had stopped tensing at the sight of brown strands instead of blonde ones in her peripheral vision. The long leather coat had hindered her movements until she had figured out how to use the long slits up the sides to her advantage; its sleeves were also a little too long for her liking. At least she got to keep her own mask.

But bar those few hitches, she was now successfully impersonating the Huntress.

Speeding down one of the more secluded roads out of the city, Sara counted at least three nondescript cars parked by the side; at least one of them belonged to Sabatoni's men. She knew they'd seen her leave. Now, it was only a matter of time before they reported their observation, and Frank Bertinelli was given the green light to circle back to Edge City.

Sara kept her pace long after she had gone out of sight; once far enough out, she would trade Helena's clothes for her own, ditch the bike, and return to the city as the Canary, using a different way in. Then, they would wait. It was a simple enough plan.

Sara had no doubt Frank Bertinelli would be dead by the next week's end.

She wasn't quite so sure what would come after, though.

Even though she liked to believe Helena would join her in the aftermath, there was also every chance she would turn on her to seek her revenge on the Arrow. She would go after her family in Starling – or her mother in Coast City. She was sure it wouldn't take the Huntress too long to realize it was Dinah Lance she had gone to see there. And if she did choose to be her enemy – well, Sara would have deal with her as she had with the others who had threatened her family. She would very much dislike it, but protecting her family came first, no matter the circumstances.

Still, she liked to think Helena was growing fond of her, too.

* * *

><p>She'd never found the quiet to be so disconcerting before.<p>

Helena usually liked her solitude – preferred it, even – but now, it was making her fidget. The unpleasant weight was set low in her gut, and the unease crawled up her skin no matter how much she tried to shake it.

Seeing Sara don her wear had been – well, she had felt the experience on a deeper level than she thought she would. The fit hadn't been quite right, of course, and the other woman moved differently, but she had still, for all intents and purposes, been _her_. It was as if she had stolen her skin and put it on; it made Helena feel exposed, raw, in a way that she hadn't anticipated.

And then with that, she was meant to just let the Canary leave – wearing her clothes, being her – and trust she would return; her palms still bore marks from where her hands had balled into fists, and her nails had dug into the flesh.

_I'll be back_, Sara had promised, in a tone that made Helena believe she had sensed her discomfort; it had been a soft yet firm promise. A _soothing_ one. Which only made Helena feel more exposed – more vulnerable. She didn't like the feeling.

So, here she was, pacing the length of the empty old bell tower, waiting. Just _waiting_.

It didn't sit well with her.

Still, if this was the price she had to pay to get what she wanted, she supposed she would just have to endure the confinement for a couple of days. Unless Sara had decided to cross her – and in that case, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

><p>Helena was down to counting the minutes. Sixty seconds for each pull of her finger against the trigger of her crossbow; she'd considered switching to her guns, but that was bound to cause a lot of noise.<p>

The sun had gone up then down, then up again, and Helena had waited and waited, and waited. Now, the sun was going down once more, and the Canary had still not returned. Though it was entirely within the timeframe they had set, the longer her absence persisted, the more restless Helena grew.

She fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, and when a thud sounded at her right, her aim changed directions; the arrow barely missed Sara's head.

"I expected a warmer welcome," the other women deadpanned, from where she was pushing the drapes out of her way with one hand and holding onto the ledge with the other, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

If the sight of her return made her own shoulders release their tension, Helena didn't dwell on the fact. Her eyes tracked Sara as she hopped inside, now dressed as her own persona. "Welcome back," she quipped, and Sara's mask did little to hide her annoyance at the sarcastic edge; Helena took pleasure in that.

"They took the bait," Sara announced. "Everything went the way we wanted it to."

Now, those were some good news, Helena thought as a smile began creeping at the corners of her mouth; her hunt would be over soon.

It was time to wait again after Sara's return, though it weighed less on Helena this time. As the days ticked by, her skin did begin to crawl again, but with anticipation; every minute that went by brought her one step closer to putting her father down.

She and Sara did another sweep of Sabatoni's home, to confirm the date of her father's arrival to the city; Helena had no problems waiting for Sara in the bushes this time around. They still had some days to kill before the _real_ kill could occur, though, and Helena took advantage of that.

Sara sparred with her for hours, and whatever else Helena thought of her, she knew how to fight; she'd learned from Sara in those few hours, and even she had to admit that there was still a lot that she _could_ teach her, given time. Sara fought with precision, a pinpoint accuracy that was still not devoid of style; for each sharp blow of her staff, there was an exhibition twirl that followed, and for every kick or punch, there was a spin which made her hair whip about her face – and that, Helena thought, was something worth learning.

Lessons aside, Helena also thought this was a time for celebration – an idea that obviously hadn't occurred to Sara, because when she returned from her run on the town their fourth night of waiting, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Helena nursing a tall cup of schnapps.

Helena raised the plastic cup in greeting.

"Party of one?" Sara inquired as she discarded her mask and wig.

"So far," Helena said. "Unless you wanna join."

It _was_ a celebration. But, Helena had also learned, the best secrets were always revealed over a drink.

And obviously, Sara knew that; her eyes were wary and cautious as she considered the offer, and Helena appreciated that she wasn't playing with a fool. When Sara didn't move, she shrugged. "Suit yourself," she told her before refilling her cup to the brim.

The seconds ticked by, but eventually, Helena felt Sara's presence closer to her; she smiled into her drink.

"Isn't it a little early for a victory drink?" Sara asked even as she lowered herself to the ground a poured herself a cup. "You haven't gotten what you want yet."

"I'm feeling optimistic." Helena raised her own cup. "Cheers."

Sara indulged her and bumped their cups, before shaking her head. "Schnapps out of plastic cups," she commented. "Reminds me of college."

"You went to college?"

That little remark earned her an unimpressed look. "Before I went on the Gambit with Ollie," Sara told her, "I was at SCU. I was going to major in economics." Her eyes dropped to the liquor in her hands, and she took a long swig.

"Instead you majored in assassinations," Helena commented. "Well, things rarely go the way you thought they would."

Sara's eyes rose at that, carrying a slight glint of curiosity; Helena decided to indulge it. "You know, before...becoming the 'Huntress'," she began, "I was this...mob princess. And I had a _fiancé_ – Michael. And back then, I thought we'd...get married, eventually, and we would...go away somewhere – away from my father, just the two of us." She watched the alcohol ripple over her reflection as she twirled her cup, distorting it; that was how it felt to remember that past now, too. All these memories – of her, of Michael, of her father – distorted by the looking glass. They barely felt like they were her own anymore.

"That was how I thought things would go," she went on. "But before that, I wanted to lock my father away – he was always a monster, and I wanted...I wanted to put him away before Michael and I began our lives together. And I started working with the FBI, gathering evidence against my father – Michael didn't know about it, it was just me." She swallowed past the lump in her throat, then added, "I had all my evidence on a laptop, and my father found it, thought it was Michael's. So, he had him killed." She looked up at Sara. "And that's when I decided that if I wanted justice, I had to get it myself."

There was a long pause before Sara responded. "Well," she said, "I've seen far worse causes than yours."

"Like _yours_?" Helena tossed back, taking another sip of her drink.

Sara nodded. "It wasn't really my cause," she spoke, "but I took part in it, so I guess that makes it mine, in a way." She took a moment to tip her cup back for a long gulp, then added, "But not anymore."

"So, what's your new cause? A one-woman mission to dismantle misogyny?"

That earned her a raise of an eyebrow. "That wasn't my intention when I came back, you know," she informed. "I came back to check on my family – after the quake." She shrugged. "To make sure they were safe."

Helena frowned. "And they are, I'd imagine," she said. "So, that's not why you stayed."

"Now that I'm home, I can't give it up again."

"But you're not really home, are you?" Helena countered. "You're jumping from one city to the other, in a mask and a wig to hide yourself – you're not home."

Sara shrugged. "Still beats the place I called home before."

"And your – let's call it a 'vigilante gig'?"

Another shrug. "I'm not used to being idle," Sara told her. "While I was with the League, anytime I wasn't on the move, it was just a respite in between kills. And even before that , I – I don't remember the last time I could _allow_ myself to be idle. So, when I came back to Starling and made sure my family was safe, I didn't...really know what to do with myself in all the downtime. So, I...just went through the streets."

Helena's head tipped to the side. "And you just – what? Flipped a coin for a tagline? Was 'bring down the patriarchy' heads or tails?"

There was a fleeing quirk of Sara's lips, before she grew serious. "No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men," she almost whispered, in a way that made Helena believe it was something of a mantra. It held a lot of meaning, too, that much was clear, even through the slight alcohol-induced haze that was starting to fog her brain.

There were many ways in which a woman could suffer at a man's hand – violence, bruises that you could see and those you could not, being treated as lesser, being used. And _that_ was something Helena could understand.

"Well, I've seen far worse causes," she echoed Sara's words, and this time, it did bring a smile out of the other woman.

As Sara reached to refill her cup, she asked, "So, is that the one you're sticking with? Being a...vigilante on the run?"

Sara seemed to consider it for a while, sipping on her drink every now and then. Eventually, she said, "I don't know. It...feels good. Being a..._vigilante_." She shook her head. "You know I worked with Oliver," she added, more quietly, "and whatever you think of _him_, his team – they're good. In the little time I spent with them, I realized that...I'd like to have what they do."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you want me to come with you to – wherever it is that you're going?"

Sara swayed from one side to the other as she shrugged. "Maybe," she said cheerily, and after a moment, Helena had to laugh; drinks had _definitely_ been a good idea.

Sara was chuckling along – well, more like smiling, with the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, her eyes crinkling at the corners and her dimples creasing her cheeks.

And just for a moment, Helena thought she might have grown fond of Sara, too.


	8. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 8

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Eight_

It was time.

Frank Bertinelli was coming back into town, by boat; he was expected by the river docks. And from their vantage point, Helena and Sara had the perfect view of his arrival.

Helena didn't let her eyes stray once, only blinking when it would become more of a nuisance than an advantage to keep her eyes open. She was waiting again, but now, she was nearly at the finish line; she practically taste the victory on her tongue.

Sara had told her – warned her, really – not to get comfortable until it was done. Getting comfortable was a rookie mistake; Helena had humored her by nodding.

There was a cluster of men waiting down below, too, and one of them was Johnny Sabatoni; of course he would welcome his old friend back. Well, he could die right along with him, too.

The night was quiet, as were the men, until the loud buzz of a speedboat disturbed that setting; Helena licked her lips in anticipation.

The roaring of the engine came and went, and soon, three men were exiting the boat; two enforcers and, right at their heels, the man of the hour. _Hello, father dear_, Helena thought, and adjusted her aim. And from beside her, so did Sara. Helena had lent her the spare crossbow again, so as to take the men out quickly and efficiently – well, all but _one_. Her father, after all, deserved a face-to-face.

"Now," she whispered, releasing her first arrow. Two men went down the next moment, and Helena had to admit, Sara's aim with a crossbow had improved – she'd still missed the heart, but well, the shot had done the job.

There was commotion now, as the men scrambled for their guns – but they were too slow, and they were at a disadvantage. Before their brains could catch up with what they were seeing, Helena had already reloaded and pulled the trigger again; so had Sara.

One by one they went, and Helena felt the mad urge to laugh at how they all crumbled to the ground, like puppets whose stings had suddenly been cut.

And then, there was one.

He broke off into a run, as Helena expected he would. _Run, coward, run._

She turned to Sara for the briefest second, waiting for her to nod; when she did, they both bounded from their crouched positions and to their feet; Sara broke off into a run, following the line of low buildings in parallel to her father's trail. Helena, for her part, jumped off the edge, scraping the length of her arm as she rolled into a landing; she took a moment to keep to the ground, just watching her father's retreating back. She grinned as she broke off into a run of her own.

And for an aging sack of bones, her father certainly ran fast.

From the corner of her eye, she tracked Sara as she ran along the skyline, bounding across the gaps between the buildings. Helena had to admit; the Canary knew how to fly.

She was closing the distance that separated her from her prey, before he suddenly skidded to a halt; Sara rose from where she had landed before him, wielding her staff. He scrambled and turned to run away, then froze again. Helena smirked at him, raising her crossbow.

There was a gun pointed at her the next moment; she shot it out of his hand. "Not this time, father," she told him.

And then he just stood there, a caged rat with nowhere to run anymore; Helena wanted to savor that feeling.

"You little – " Whatever insult he wanted to throw her way was lost in a grunt, as Sara's staff connected with the back of his knees; she forced him to the ground the next moment. Then, she backed away, and nodded. "I'll leave you to it," she said, stepping backwards until she went out of sight.

As she retreated, Helena approached. Her father was right where she had wanted him for a long, long time; on his knees before her.

And she'd debated for a long, long time, too, how she wanted to put an end to him – a bullet to the head as Michael's fiancée, to end him the same way he had ended her love, or an arrow to the heart as the Huntress? Even as she had chased him moments earlier, she still hadn't known.

But now, as he panted at her feet, looking at her like she was the devil – like _she _was the monster here – she realized she hadn't been Michael's Helena in a really long while; and the justice she sought had changed, too. But either way, she wanted the scoundrel at her feet dead.

Still, for a moment, her hold on the crossbow faltered; this was all she had lived for, for a couple of years now. Just for a split-second, she thought about letting him get away – just not to let her hunt end. Once he was dead, it would be done – Michael would be avenged. Her father would have paid for his sins. And she –

_When your purpose is over, what will you be then?_

Helena raised her chin.

She was the Huntress.

"Well, get it over with, then," her father spat.

With a smile, she pointed her arrow at his chest. "Oh, I will," she said, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p>The river still stank of sewage and dead bodies – and she had been the one to put the latest one in there.<p>

Helena stood watching over the dark water, even after the shape that was her father's corpse had floated out of sight.

It was done. She had what she had come for. He was dead.

She closed her eyes, letting the stench fill her nose; it smelled of victory.

The soft sound of footfalls approaching her didn't faze her; she appreciated that Sara had given her privacy for this moment – that she had understood why she needed it.

"So," Sara spoke, "does it feel as good as you thought it would?"

Helena opened her eyes slowly, taking one long, deep breath of the smell in the air. "_Better_."

With a slight smile, she turned to Sara. "Thank you," she said. "For honoring our deal."

Sara nodded. "A deal's a deal," she dismissed the gratitude. She was quiet then, letting her eyes scan the river. "What now?" she asked after a moment. "Will you come with me? Or will you go after Oliver next?"

The funny thing was, just yesterday, she would have agreed to the former as means to get the latter; now, the desire to retaliate against the Hood – the _Arrow _– didn't burn so hot. In a way, Helena felt sated. "You know, you were right," she told Sara. "Now that my father is dead, I need something to fall back on – I _want _it. My father has paid his debt, and I've put Michael to rest. For good." She took a deep breath. "And," she added, "as much as it pains me to say it, I _have _grown fond of you, too."

Sara chuckled faintly next to her. "That's nice to hear," she said softly. "But if this is going where I think it is, I will ask you to leave Oliver be. You don't have to forgive him, but whatever he did to you, he is also my friend – and if you side with _me_, you can't go against _him_."

Helena had expected that clause; she nodded. "I was actually going to take you up on your offer, then do it anyway," she admitted, then cast the other woman a sidelong glance. "But I think you already knew that." Sara's expression was all the affirmative answer she needed.

"But you've changed your mind?"

Helena sighed. "I guess so," she said. "Turns out, I got all the revenge I needed." She shrugged. "It's time for something new." And there was better prey out there for a Huntress than Oliver Queen.

Sara hummed, and Helena caught sight of her turning towards her out of the corner of her; she matched her stance to face her.

"So, you'll come with me?" Sara asked.

Helena smiled down at Sara's proffered hand, and shook it.

* * *

><p>Next Installment: <strong><em>The Coveted<em>**


	9. II The Coveted - Ch 1

_A/N: So, this is where the Starling shenanigans start. I hope you will enjoy that. _

_Also, this series is canon-compliant up until 2x05, so while I do sample canon elements from later episodes, I also take quite a few liberties. All canon divergences should be made pretty clear, though. There is also a lot of info being dropped in this chapter, most of which is set-up, and I plan on following through on all of it as the series goes on. _

_That said, carry on please. _

* * *

><p><strong>To Be a Bird of Prey<strong>

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter One_

She'd thought nothing could possibly top the Undertaking.

Turns out, she was wrong.

The thing was, they hadn't seen it coming – none of it. One day, they were just doing their thing, she was hacking video feeds, Oliver was sharpening arrows in-between nursing a semi-functional teacher-pupil relationship with Roy while never taking off his hood, and Diggle was mostly just despairing over it all – and then, next thing they knew, all hell was breaking loose.

Another thing Felicity had learned – if Oliver thought people were dead, there was every chance they were actually alive and kicking.

First, the Dark Archer had risen from the shadows. And he was crazier than ever. He'd gone after Thea – who, as it happened, was his daughter. Not that that had been a surprise for the team when Malcolm Merlyn had dropped back onto the map, though it had been a shocker when it was first uncovered – it had been a surprise for Thea, though. Big, huge, crippling surprise.

And while Oliver was challenging the Dark Archer for a rematch, they'd been blindsided by another ghost from his past.

Felicity had first heard the name Slade Wilson in a throwaway line about the island from Oliver – just an innocuous slip of his tongue that he immediately looked like he wanted to take back. Well, in front of her, anyway – she knew he'd shared some of it with Diggle. But she had known one thing: Slade Wilson was _dead_.

Recently, however, she had learned that he was _not_ dead, had an affinity for swords and a two-faced mask, as well as an unquenchable desire to get revenge on Oliver. Now, the reasons behind his hatred – _those_ had been unexpected. While she'd been on her knees and with her hands behind her back on the cold QC floor, she'd heard more about the island from Slade Wilson than she ever had from Oliver himself; Shado and Sara, and one Dr. Anthony Ivo, and a fateful bullet to the head, directed by an even more fateful choice on Oliver's part – or so Slade had said. Then, there was the story behind the eye-patch – well, he hadn't actually _told_ her that one per se. She had just connected the dots. She'd been on Lian Yu; she'd seen the mask on the beach. The mask like the one Slade wore; the mask with an arrow driven through its eye. So, no, Slade hadn't told her about that one; she'd just figured it out. She'd heard everything else from him, though.

And she hadn't been the only one.

Laurel Lance had heard it all, too, from where she was right next to Felicity on the cold ground – and that particular staging, Felicity had learned, was a form of callback to island happenings; Slade had wanted Oliver to make a choice this time, too.

Things hadn't exactly gone according to _that_ plan. Oliver had shown up, of course, no hood and no mask – and Felicity personally considered it a silver lining that his second identity had been kept under wraps from Laurel; it was probably an incredible stroke of luck that Slade hadn't had the chance to tell _that_ tale as well.

She and Laurel, however, had been waiting for their stroke of death.

Felicity hadn't doubted for a second that Slade would kill them both, once the curtain closed on his little play. It was about suffering, and mind games, and guilt – payback for what he called Oliver's sins.

It all became somewhat of a blur at one point, actually. She remembered the voices; Slade's angry, taunting one, and Oliver's loud shouting followed by his quieter attempts at reasoning. She remembered how they had made her head pound along with the rush of blood in her ears; she couldn't remember the words, though. And she remembered hearing Laurel grit her teeth and growl, she remembered her muttering, too; she remembered seeing her close her eyes and shake from anger, and she remembered wanting to ask her if she was okay. She didn't know what she remembered after that.

Next thing she knew, Laurel's was screaming off the top of her lungs; a deep, drawn-out scream that had scrambled Felicity's mind. It had _hurt_ to hear the scream.

She knew she had toppled over, away from the pain the scream made her feel, and she knew she had heard glass shattering all around her. She'd been told more about what had happened later than she actually remembered – all that she really did remember was the throbbing in her head.

Oliver had jumped at Slade, and there was some struggle, and then they had both gone out the window. Oliver had climbed back, and Felicity knew he had cut his palms open on the ledge because she had bloody streaks on her cheeks afterwards. And after it was all said and done, Slade was nowhere to be found, dead or alive.

Laurel didn't speak to Oliver. She didn't speak to anyone, actually.

Thea wasn't speaking to him, either. Or to their mother. Not after learning what they'd kept from her. But the return of the Dark Archer had been, in a way, anticlimactic. Though that hadn't made it any less bloody. He'd made his presence known again, taken Thea, but when Oliver had come for him, bow at the ready, he'd run away. Just gone as quickly as he'd come. No one knew why. And while Oliver had searched then waited, a two-block radius of the Glades had gone up in flames, raising Malcolm Merlyn's body count to five hundred and seventy. They hadn't seen that coming either. And much like Slade Wilson, Malcolm Merlyn was nowhere to be found now.

So, Felicity concluded, all in all, things were _bad_.

Just like they had been after the quake, even if it was in another way. Things were different now, though. She, Digg and Oliver were a team now, an actual team – with Roy as an honorary member who was kept in the dark about most things and Sara as the wandering trooper they knew they could call. So yes, they were a team now and things were different, and the aftermath would not be as the last one. Oliver would stay and they would find a way to fix this mess. Like a team.

Which was why she was blindsided when he stepped up to her and Diggle in the basement, and announced he was leaving.

"What do you mean, you're _leaving_?" she let out, blinking at his stoic, blank face.

"I'm going back to Lian Yu," he said. "I never should have left in the first place."

Her head whipped toward Diggle; his expression didn't show much, though there was some disappointment there. But no surprise.

Felicity, for her part, was definitely surprised. "Wh – I don't...I don't understand," was all she could think of saying.

Oliver didn't meet her eyes as he said, "I failed – again. The only reason you and Laurel were in danger was because of me, because Slade wanted to get back at _me_, and – " He sighed. "And he's still out there, but if I'm not here, there's no reason for him to go after anyone I care about – there's no point if I'm not here to see it." After licking his lips, he added, "I failed to kill him, just like I failed to kill Malcolm, and he beat me – _again_. He didn't even have to _try _this time. I'm no good against him. I'm no good for the city either. I should never have come back."

"You – you can't be serious." She huffed. "We've spent months helping the city – "

"And we have nothing to show for it," he cut in, sharply. "Every time we take one bad guy down, ten more pop up. Malcolm killed more people again, and we couldn't stop him. We couldn't even see him coming – or Slade. This was a fool's crusade, just like the last one."

"But – what about your family? And the city? They need you. _We_ – " she gestured between herself and Diggle - "need you."

He shook and ducked his head, like he was trying to shake her words off. "My sister isn't speaking to me," he whispered. "And my mother – well, we haven't been on the best of terms. And the city – " His expression hardened. "Nothing I do makes much of a difference – if anything, I make it worse. I bring psychopaths and destruction wherever I go, and I did this time, too – "

"Merlyn isn't your fault – "

"I failed to kill him!" he raised his voice. "I tried, and I failed, and he came back! Just like the Count, like Helena – like Slade." He shook his head. "The city's better off without me."

Felicity gulped, hating how small her voice sounded as she asked, "And what about us?"

He looked up just for a split second, and that was the only showcase of how deeply his regret ran she got.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice low and thick.

Well.

So much for things being different.

"Come on, man, don't do this," Diggle said quietly.

Felicity watched him and Oliver stare at each other for a long time, but in the end, she knew Oliver's will would win out. Some things never changed.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," was Oliver's response.

Well, at least they'd gotten _that_.

It was weird, actually; it didn't feel like much of a goodbye at all. "So, you're done?" she asked.

He nodded, and she could have rolled her eyes at how solemn he made it look. "I'm done."

"Then so am I," she concluded. "I'm not going halfway across the world to drag you back again. And when you decide you want to pick up where you left off, I won't be here for the ride. I'm out."

"I won't come back, Felicity."

"Yeah, you will," she said. It could be a year or a decade, but he'd find a reason to come back. Because some things never changed. "But I won't be here when you do."

She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Safe travels," she told him before making her way out, her heels clacking loudly in the ensuing silence. She knew there would be more words exchanged between him and Diggle, but she had no desire to linger behind and hear the conversation.

He was running away again. And she knew better than to chase after him this time.

* * *

><p>The transition was almost seamless this time.<p>

Mrs. Queen took over as CEO at Queen Consolidated. Isabel Rochev now enjoyed a new partner to have stare-off with. And Felicity had gotten her old job back in IT. She didn't know if she wanted to stay there anymore, but something had to pay her bills until she figured it out.

Diggle had been the one to inform Roy that there would be no more crime-fighting for them, using the voice-distorter to impersonate the Arrow.

Laurel was on a paid leave of absence at the DA's office.

The basement was locked and empty.

And Felicity –

Well, she was mostly going through the motions. She felt like it hadn't hit her yet, the whole weight of the situation. Like the few seconds of dead quiet after an impact. A train going off its rails and hitting a wall of stone before going up in flames; and those few seconds in-between were dead quiet. She felt like she was trapped in that stillness, too, suspended in mid-air before things started moving again. It would probably be ugly when they did.

The city felt like it had been suspended in motion, too. At least for a couple of days. Then, it had exploded. Malcolm Merlyn was alive. He'd killed again – targeted the Glades again. Alderman Blood was gaining traction by the minute. _Again – _and Felicity still believed there was something terribly off about him, even more so now. She didn't know why, but he seemed even more..._invested_ this time. In a way that made her very uncomfortable.

But she wasn't scrambling to put the basement back together now. And she wasn't making longterm plans for the rehabilitation of Team Arrow. The Arrow, in his own words, was done, and so was she.

So much for being heroes.

It wasn't that she didn't understand that he carried the guilt of everything that ever went wrong on his shoulders. Or that he would be the last person to have faith in himself. _Or_ that he thought that, in end, everyone was just better off without him. But if all the road they'd covered since she and Diggle had dragged him back from Purgatory hadn't changed his mind on the matter, then there was nothing she could do about it.

And there was nothing she could about Team Arrow, either. It was officially dismantled. She and Diggle couldn't do it on their own. They'd tried what they could, the last time, but there was always the ever-present knowledge that they needed Oliver to make it work. They needed his skill-set. They needed him. Diggle was good, but he couldn't do what Oliver could. She was not fieldwork material. And Roy –

Roy was partially trained at best, and all that Diggle could teach him would never be enough to make him into the kind of crusader Oliver was. Besides, Felicity doubted Roy would be very enthusiastic to try, even if they gave it a shot – he felt betrayed, too. And Sara was running with the League of Assassins at her heels.

So, no more Team Arrow.

And with that, Felicity expected she would settle into the same sort of routine she'd had before all of it. Well, it wouldn't be the _same_ – it couldn't. Just the same _kind_.

What she had not expected, though, was to feel a hand cover her mouth as she walked to her car after work a week after Oliver had left, and a sharp smell to fill her nostrils as she lost consciousness.

* * *

><p>It took her a while to open her eyes.<p>

Her head felt too heavy for her shoulders, every last one of her muscles felt too stiff, and each breath she pulled felt like it was burning her throat and nose.

Felicity blinked through the fog, screwing her eyes shut then opening them, trying to focus her sight. Then, she realized it would stay unfocused no matter how hard she tried, because her glasses were missing. She could feel hard concrete beneath her, though, as well as recognize its bleak color stretch out around her; it wasn't the same as the one in the QC's parking lot, however.

A flash of hair swam into her field of vision next – of _white_ hair.

_Uh-oh_, was the best her muddled brain could come up with.

"Hello."

How did one respond to a greeting by a high-ranking member of the Chinese mafia they called China White, and who was supposed to be under lock and key at Iron Heights and had evidently taken you hostage?

Where did the rules of appropriate social conduct stand on this?

China White crouched in front of her, and Felicity backed away on instinct; the pain that shot through her head the next moment let her know she'd hit it against the wall.

"Easy," the other woman told her. She opened the palm of her hand next, holding what Felicity vaguely recognized as her glasses. Her own hand came up to grab them, only for her to let out a yelp when it was yanked back, along with the sound of rattling metal; she was handcuffed.

Her left hand had been left free, though. So, she raised that one, feeling it starting to shake. It took longer than it should have to retrieve her glasses and slip them on, but eventually, the world around her sharpened again, and she was met with China White's dark eyes. She gulped.

"Wh – what do you want with me?" she asked, hating that her voice wavered as she did so.

The other woman shrugged. "You're our guest."

Felicity chanced a look at her surroundings, finding there to be at least five men with them in the – was it a basement? No, there was light streaming though the windows. A warehouse, maybe?

"That's funny," she commented. "I don't usually kidnap and handcuff my guests."

The realization that her mouth had gotten the better of her brain – _again_ – came a moment too late, but China White only smirked.

"The accommodations are temporary," she said. "Until the Arrow responds to my invitation."

Felicity stilled, feeling a heavy weight settle in her gut. "W-what?" she squeaked out.

The white-haired woman rose to her feet. "The Arrow and I have a lot of unfinished business," she said. "I want to settle our score once and for all. And _you_ – " her smirk grew wider – "are what's going to make him come to me."

The weight was turning into a churning now, gnawing at her insides. "I – I don't, he – he's – I don't have anything to – to d-do with – "

"Don't bother," China White interrupted her. "I _know_ he values you – your life, at least. He killed the Count for you. And I _know_ you were questioned by Quentin Lance about the work you'd done _for_ him." She shrugged. "Lance and the city may have forgotten about it, what with the quake and all, but my sources at the PD remember. You work with him," she stated. "He'll come for you. And when he does..."

Although she didn't voice the rest of her plan, reading between the lines was easy enough.

There was, however, a significant fault in her plan, even if she might be unaware of it. The Arrow wouldn't get to read her 'invitation', much less respond to it.

_He's not coming._


	10. II The Coveted - Ch 2

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

_**II. The Coveted**_

_Chapter Two_

Felicity had weighed her options – through the frantic pounding of her heart and the fear that was scrambling her thought process. She could push the idea that she wasn't involved with the Arrow, that the Triad had gotten it wrong; that would probably be for nothing, though. She doubted she could persuade China White of it under the best of circumstances. And if she did – well, that would only speed up the process on the bullet with her name on it being fired.

She could tell the truth, that the Arrow was gone. Packed his bags and left.

But it didn't take a genius to figure out it would follow the same pattern as the first option. They wouldn't believe her, they'd think she was protecting him. And if they did believe her, then she was useless anyway. _And then comes the bullet to the head_.

The thing was, she was pretty sure a bullet to the head was in the books anyway. They only counted on Oliver receiving one, too.

The way she saw it, Diggle was her only hope now. The clock was ticking, though. According to China White, she had two days.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Buenos Aires, Argentina<em>**

**_One week earlier_**

"You're kidding me, right?"

Sara sighed at Helena's tone, even as she stuffed more clothes into her bag. "I have to go back, Helena," she said, a little impatiently. It was going to take longer than she would have liked to get from this seedy motel they were in to Starling anyway, and she didn't have any time to lose.

Felicity had sent out a message, through the various anonymous channels she had set up herself for communication. They'd never used them before, so when the message came, Sara had known it was urgent even before reading its contents. _We need you_, it said, followed by a succinct account of things that had happened. It was all Sara needed to hear to start packing.

Helena, however, was having trouble accepting it. "Why?" she let out.

Sara threw her batons on the bed, whirling on her companion. "Felicity sent me an S.O.S.," she said. "Things are _bad_. And my sister was nearly _killed_."

"But she clearly _wasn't_, and your little troopers can clean up their messes," Helena fired back. "You said you couldn't go back to Starling – you said you _wouldn't_!"

Sara took a moment to draw a deep breath before saying, "I _have_ to."

Helena looked away, then quietly hissed, "And what about me?" She stepped up to her, anger flashing in her eyes. "We've crossed half the continent together, but now you're just going to ditch me because _Felicity_ sent out an S.O.S.?" She shook her head. "I should have known."

Sara frowned. "I want you to come with me, Helena," she said. It hadn't crossed her mind that she would think she wasn't wanted for the ride.

But if she thought that would ease Helena's mind, she was wrong. In fact, it only made her angrier.

"You're _serious_?" she raised her voice. "You want _me_ to go back to Starling? I should just – what? Walk right into the lion's den and trust your little friends won't open fire?"

Sara hung her head. She did understand Helena's reticence; her friends were, at the end of the day, Helena's enemies.

And they _had_ crossed half the continent together. From Edge City to New York, to Vancouver to Tijuana to where they were now. And in those few months, they had swept the streets clean of the vermin that crawled them, while targeting local branches of the Italian mob – which was Helena's idea and requirement, of course. It had been great. But her family came first.

"Helena," she began, lowering her voice, "I have to go back. They need me there – my _family_ needs me." She licked her lips. "I – I left the _League of Assassins_ for my family. So, if – if you won't come with me..." _Then I can leave you, too. _

She didn't say the words but she knew Helena had heard them all the same. It was clear in the thinning of her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes; Sara knew there was nothing in the world that would make Helena trust another person entirely, so she was fairly certain she hadn't been all that surprised. More like angered. And in truth, Sara couldn't trust her either – not entirely. It would actually be foolish to have complete faith in the Huntress and her motives; her agenda. That didn't mean Sara didn't enjoy her company, though. And it didn't mean she _wanted_ to leave her behind, if she could help it. They were, after all, partners.

"I'm not going to leave you to the wolves, if that's what you think they are," she told her, taking a step closer. "And Starling City is full of injustice," she added, "especially now. There's plenty for a Huntress to do." She paused for a beat, then said, "But I will go, with or without you. And you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same. If there's one thing we have in common, it's complete loyalty to those we love."

She knew Helena would appreciate the honesty, if nothing else.

It took a while to get an answer, but Sara waited her out. Eventually, Helena closed her eyes, and sighed. "Starling City it is, then," she agreed. "Home sweet home."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Starling City, California<em>**

**_Present day_**

Felicity tried to get her brain to shut up. Yet for all her efforts, it kept ringing with the same tune.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock._

_Tick-tock, goes the clock_.

She didn't know how much time had gone by. The handcuffs remained on her wrist the entire time, and her abductors definitely weren't gracious hosts, because they didn't supply her with either food or water; she supposed it was something the mafia did in these situations, for further _incentive_ to have their demands met.

Which they wouldn't be. Because the Arrow wasn't coming.

_He's not coming_.

Sometimes, her captors left her alone in the room. Sometimes, a quiet fellow checked up on her. Sometimes, China White herself did. They'd trade words she didn't understand, and when what sounded like gibberish filled her ears, she thought that maybe she should have roped Oliver into teaching her Chinese.

_Oliver_. He was gone. Probably already swinging from trees or killing wildlife or making bug soup or whatever it was he did on Lian Yu. Maybe he stood on the beach and broodingly stared at the mask and arrow he'd planted there – was it a twisted sort of shrine or a reminder that friendship didn't last? Probably the latter. He certainly seemed to follow that philosophy in all things. Nothing really lasted for him. Definitely not his presence.

_He's not coming_.

Her mouth was dry. And her tongue felt like it had gone bad or something similarly disgusting. Not as disgusting as the bucket they'd left her for her 'basic necessities' – now _that_ was disgusting.

And her body hurt all over – what with not moving it and all that. Her shackled wrist was basically a horror story at this point. Her spine felt like it was probably in the process of calcifying. And muscle atrophy was happening, too, she was pretty sure. Also, her head pounded. Could be from the lack of sleep – she was quite tired, actually, but she couldn't let herself sleep. She knew better than to fall asleep with the vultures circling. Diggle may not have been able to teach her how to throw a punch, or get out of handcuffs, or intimidate enemies into submission, but she wouldn't fail him on this; she'd stay vigilant.

She wondered about Diggle. He had to have seen the calling card, whatever it had been – probably her phone. That was what she would use. Also, her phone was equipped with a tracker, which would have led the cavalry at the bad guys' door a long time ago. So, definitely her phone.

And Digg was smart, especially when it came to this stuff, so he'd do some recon, and then he'd make plans like soldiers did, and he'd probably strap a lot of riffles to his back – or maybe just one, and he'd fill his belt and socks with sidearms, and he wouldn't be very theatrical about his entrance, unlike a certain _someone_, and then it would be Digg to the rescue. It couldn't take him that long. He was good at this stuff. So, it couldn't take him long. Right? It felt like a long time already, though. But that was probably because she was the one held captive. It was bound to feel longer to her. Right? He'd be here soon, though. He would.

Right?

She tried to stop the prickling in her eyes, but much like with her brain, there was nothing she could do stop her tears from falling.

_No one's coming_.

* * *

><p>He was close to just throwing caution to the wind, and going in there by himself. He could take them all on.<p>

Even as he considered the idea, Diggle dismissed it. If there was one thing Felicity wouldn't forgive him for, it would be getting killed while trying to save her.

It was the only thing that kept him from gearing up instead of sitting in Verdant's basement and looking at the door every five seconds. He had found Felicity's cellphone, with the message intended for Oliver, along with a set of coordinates that led to one of the many abandoned buildings in the Glades. Diggle had scouted the place, eventually concluding that it wasn't where they were keeping Felicity; it was just a trap for Oliver to walk into. Not that Diggle would have expected anything else.

Members of the Triad came and went, and Diggle followed a select few, which led him to Felicity's true location. The warehouse she was held in was very heavily fortified, too; the Triad had obviously anticipated the eventuality of this location being discovered. They were waiting for the Arrow either way.

Except the Arrow was cooped up on an island in the middle of nowhere, and Diggle would have cursed his name for leaving, but there would be time for that later. Hauling him back was not an option – not with the timeframe the Triad had set. For John to go in alone was also not an option – well, it was a last resort.

What he counted on was back-up in the form of one Sara Lance. He knew Felicity had told her to come back, and he was sure she would. With her help, he could get to Felicity. But he had to wait for her. It killed him to wait.

His other option was Roy – but that was _really_ his last resort. The kid would make a mess. Bringing Lance and the PD could also be a possibility, but with their _tactics_, it was quite likely none of them would come out of it alive, not to mention that it would raise too many questions – so, they were the option he considered even _after_ Roy.

Sara was his best option.

But time was running out, and if she didn't come soon –

The beep he'd been _praying_ to hear finally echoed through the basement. He whirled to face the clattering of footsteps down the stairs, and froze. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"

* * *

><p>Her mind was getting hazy, and it took all the effort in the world to not close her eyes, but there they were again, the white-haired leader and her muscle, talking in words she didn't understand, and chancing glances at her. She didn't need to know Chinese to guess what they were saying, though.<p>

_He's not coming_.

She could have told them that.

_No one's coming_.

So, essentially, she was screwed.

She was getting too tired to hold her head up. She heard one last command from China White, though. She didn't need to speak Chinese to figure this one out, either. _Kill her._

The instructions may have been a little more complex than that, because they were followed by nothing but silence for a while, long after China White had gone out of sight.

But the clock was still running.

So, in the end, the sharp sound of a gun being cocked was inevitable. Felicity closed her eyes.

The shot, however, didn't come.

Instead, there was suddenly noise – a _lot_ of noise – and scuffle and struggle.

She felt tears wet her cheeks as she forced herself to look, to see what was happening. It was all blurry and her head throbbed from the loudness, and it was dark, but she still saw the stark flash of bleach-blonde hair.

_Sara_.

Sara had come for her.

* * *

><p>"<em>East entrance is secure<em>," Sara heard Diggle's voice through her earpiece, from where she and Helena were ducking in the shadows by the northern one.

Diggle had done a good job with the recon, noting that of the three possible points of entry; one was boarded, which left two to be covered – by both the Triad and the rescue party. One was their way in, the other one their way out. Diggle had made sure the coast was clear on the latter – which had come as something of a surprise, actually. The number of people inside was smaller than during his recon, which meant that they were really cutting it close to the deadline.

"All right," Sara said. "It's our turn."

From where she was crouched at her right, Helena raised her crossbow, taking her aim. "I hope you appreciate all I do for you," she commented before she released her arrow; the lone guard at the entrance fell to the ground a second later.

"This is not for me," Sara corrected, straightening to her full height. "It's for Felicity."

"Well, I'm mostly just doing it as a favor to you," Helena informed dryly, another arrow loaded and at the ready as they made their way inside. The warehouse was predictably bare of any ornaments, and the electricity had obviously been cut a long time ago, too; the only source of light now where the windows. There was also a noticeable lack of human presence, which did not sit well with Helena.

"And I was also rather hoping to have some fun," she said. "So far, this is disappointing."

"_Of course you'd be disappointed by being denied the chance to up your body count,_" came Diggle's irritated response through the comms.

Helena merely smirked. "What's a huntress without her prey?"

Sara didn't bother paying attention to the rest of their sarcastic back-and-forth.

They did that, apparently.

_Her_ concern, however, was Felicity. And it seemed like they were finally getting to her.

Sara raised her hand, halting both Helena's movements and her and Diggle's exchange. "There," she said, pointing to the half-open door down one of the corridors, and the three long shadows it cast on the floor; human shadows.

"Let's go." Helena followed her lead, keeping her crossbow at the ready as they kept to the wall, using the darkness to their advantage.

Finally, they were at the entrance, treated to the partial view of an extended arm, holding a gun.

Sara charged, kicking at the door to give Helena her clear shot. The gun was out of the man's hand the next moment and he was howling in pain, an arrow in his wrist.

The other two men in the room pulled their own weapons, opening fire. Sara ducked to the left while Helena went right.

While she would take pleasure in engaging them hand-to-hand, subduing them with her blows alone, they couldn't waste time. So, Sara reached for her trusted device, straightening to her full height while the men dropped their guns and went to their knees, their skin cut by the raining glass.

And when it stopped, she went to them. They didn't have time to waste, but it only took her a second to break their necks. Under other circumstances, she might consider sparing them, but these two...well, she had a _personal_ gripe with them, for once.

Both their necks broke with loud cracks.

Leaving them to drop to the ground, Sara turned to Helena, where she had the third man in a chokehold. "You know, I've killed some of your friends before," she heard Helena say. "I'd think you and your little organization remember me. But just in case you need reminding..."

The man fell to the floor next, his neck broken, too.

Helena enjoyed getting her brand of justice wherever she could get it, Sara had learned, and she had a particular affinity for dispensing it to members of mafia empires – for obvious reasons.

Her attention, however, was on the slumped-over figure behind the Huntress. She dashed past her, crouching down. "Felicity?" she called out, taking her face in her hands. "Can you hear me?"

Felicity's response was slow, her face drained of color and with heavy circles under her eyes, but when her eyelids fluttered open, she began to smile, ever-so-feebly. Sara smoothed over her hair. "You're safe now," she told her. "We're getting you out of here."

Felicity merely slumped forward, resting her cheek on Sara's shoulder.

She felt Helena's presence at her side next, following her movements to where she broke the handcuffs around Felicity's wrist.

"Let's move out," Helena said next, and with a nod, Sara rose to her feet, bringing Felicity with her. She slung her over her shoulder, carrying her while Helena covered them during their exit. Diggle was waiting for them with the getaway car.

After that, they'd be en route to the club basement Felicity liked to call home. Or used to, anyway.


	11. II The Coveted - Ch 3

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter Three_

The basement of Verdant looked about the same as Sara remembered it. The complex set-up of computers, the glass casings, the weapons; the green hood.

Things were different, though. Oliver wasn't there.

And his absence was as tangible as his presence used to be.

Felicity laid on the basement's metal table reserved for unconscious injured parties, with an IV in her arm and a blanket wrapped snugly around her.

Sara stood right by her side, her eyes flickering to her monitored vitals every few seconds. Diggle stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. Helena half-sat on one of the tables, leg propped on a crate on the ground, in a stance Sara thought was a form of taunt towards Diggle.

And the silence between them all was rather awkward.

Sara decided she should break it, by sticking to neutral subjects. "I think the Triad got the message," she said, feeling her voice was unusually loud in the quiet space, "but someone should still stay with Felicity. At least for some time."

Diggle nodded. "They might want to retaliate, too," he pointed out. "Or they might still think Oliver's around. In any case, we need to keep her safe."

"Get her a gun," Helena commented, in a tone that very much implied she was rolling her eyes.

Predictably, it made Diggle's posture turn very hostile. "This isn't any of your business," he warned.

Sara closed her eyes, and sighed.

"You may want to be a little more grateful," Helena fired back, "seeing as it was _my_ shot that saved your little friend here from a bullet to the head. Maybe I should have just let that guy pull the trigger."

"Considering you _threatened_ her life the last time you were here – "

"And now I helped save it," Helena cut in. "So we're even."

"Not by a long shot," Diggle said.

Helena was gearing up for a retort, but the soft mumbling sounds coming from the metal table made them all quiet. Diggle stepped closer while Sara watched intently, focused on the fluttering of Felicity's eyelids. When they lifted fully, Sara smiled down at her. "How was your nap?" she asked softly.

Felicity blinked a few times while a small frown creased her brow; she seemed to center herself after some moments, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak. All that came out of it was a faint croak.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Guess I didn't dream all of that," she whispered, her gaze dropping downward.

"No," Sara told her, "but you're safe now." Her own eyes lingered on Felicity's hand, where it lay at her side against the metal, and she moved to grasp it; weakly though as it was, Felicity squeezed back.

"Well, that's debatable," came Helena's comment, and Felicity's reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes lifted to the other woman and widened, as she stuttered, "Wh – what are – "

"Hi." Helena pushed herself off the table, coming closer. Sara shot her a warning glance. "Don't give me that look," Helena told her. "You're the one who insisted I come here."

"Sara, what's – what's happening?" Felicity's quiet question made Sara sigh. She ran her thumb over her knuckles to soothe her, then said, "She's with me. I was with her when I got your message. We came here together."

"We _rescued_ _you_ together," Helena supplied.

Felicity's eyes bounced between the two of them, and every new piece of information only seemed to confuse her further. "You – you're working with her?" she let out.

Diggle made a little sound, as if to agree with the sentiment behind the query.

Before Sara could try and explain, Helena was piping in. "Considering whom _the two of you_ were working with before he left you hung out to dry," she remarked, "I don't think you're well-placed to take the moral high-ground on anyone's choice of partners."

The remark was biting, and it cut just the way Helena had wanted it to; by drawing all the attention back to the very noticeable absence in the room.

Sara watched as Felicity's eyes went over the corners out of habit, searching but not finding what they were looking for, and she watched as they slowly filled with tears.

While Sara tightened her hold on Felicity's fingers, John laid a comforting hand on her forearm, just above where a bandage was wrapped around the bruised wrist of her other hand. "You know he'd be here if he knew, Felicity," he told her kindly.

"But that's just the point, right?" she whispered, then sniffled. "He _doesn't_ know because he's _not_ here. And that's – that's a choice he made. He chose to leave even if – " she blew out a quiet breath – "even if that meant he wouldn't be here if _things_ happened." She sniffled. "So, there's that."

A tear escaped the corner of her eye and she turned her head away, burrowing her cheek in the makeshift pillow they had made her and tucking her chin in the crease of her shoulder.

"Did you really expect better?"

_Dammit, Helena_, Sara thought.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Diggle issued another warning, with a definite threat lacing his words this time.

Helena raised an eyebrow. "You know, I'm really starting to feel unwanted around here."

"That's because you are."

"Digg," Felicity muttered softly, in a tone Sara would associate with someone calling off their protective big brother. And John seemed to understand that, falling back.

Felicity raised her head next, only a fraction, to look at Helena. "I kind of owe you my life now," she said, "so...thanks for that, I guess."

Sara followed Helena's reaction out of the corner of her eye, withholding the urge to smile at the oddly blank expression on the Huntress's face; Felicity had surprised her with her gratitude, that much was clear, throwing her in for a loop when all she had expected was to be torn to pieces. Being blindsided into not having to play defense would throw off even the best of them, Sara supposed.

After some uncomfortable moments, Helena cleared her throat. "Well, I think I _will_ go now," she announced, exchanging looks with Sara as she retreated. She gave her a slight nod, which Sara returned; she'd told Helena about the place she favored in the city, the clocktower in the Glades. They had agreed to stay there, for however long their business kept them in Starling. Sara surmised it would be longer than Helena would have liked.

Sara tracked her movements until she disappeared out of sight, and as the door clicked shut behind Helena, she could practically feel Diggle's eyes boring down on her. With a soft sigh, she met his, unsurprisingly, disapproving gaze.

"Something else you'd like to say, Digg?" she asked.

He stayed quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really," he said. "I'm just surprised at your..._choice of partners_."

"She's not as bad as you think she is."

"No, actually, Sara, I think she's way worse than _you_ think she is," he retorted. "She's a psycho – a stone-cold killer!"

"And so am I!" Sara matched his tone. "I was an _assassin_ for years. My body count _by far_ exceeds hers, and if that's what you think of her, then I have to wonder what you think of _me_."

He dropped his eyes to the ground, shaking his head. "It's not the same," he defended. "She doesn't care about the destruction she leaves in her wake, about the _collateral damage_." He threw his arms out. "She was willing to start a full-blown mob war just to get to her father, she would kill _anyone_ – McKenna Hall is still learning how to _walk again_ after your new partner shot her femur to pieces!" He drew a sharp breath there, as if to calm himself, then repeated, more quietly, "It's not the same."

Sara pursed her lips. "You're right, it's not the same," she said. "I killed people I was _told_ to kill – the way an assassin does. The same way your brother's killer does." Diggle reeled back, like the mere idea was outrageous, but Sara went on. "See, you're right, I'm not like Helena – I'm more like Deadshot," she concluded. "Except I didn't even get paid. And you want to speak about collateral damage? Every person I killed while with the League was collateral damage in Ra's al Ghul's endgame, and I played along to save _my_ life." She felt the burning of tears in her eyes and ducked her head, pulling a deep breath through her nose. "So, if Helena's irredeemable, then so am I – maybe even more so."

Diggle looked distinctly uncomfortable after she was done. Eventually, he only said, "I didn't mean to offend you, Sara."

"I know," she assured. "And I get that...your _history_ with Helena makes you wary. But she _is_ my partner," she asserted, "and she was on your side tonight. I think that counts for something."

Eventually, Diggle nodded. Sara doubted it had made him any more inclined to welcome Helena, though. So, she dropped her eyes down, to Felicity.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," she apologized. "_Again_."

Felicity's shoulder moved against the table, in a small shrug. "I'm just glad you're here."

Her voice was quiet and thick, and Sara knew she was thinking of the one person who _wasn't_ here again. While she understood Oliver's thought process better than she'd like, though she did not condone it, Sara also understood that Felicity's loyalty was absolute; and it hurt not be shown the same kind of loyalty in return.

So, she ran a soothing hand over Felicity's hair. "Get some more rest," she said. "You're dehydrated and exhausted. And your body heals best when you're sleeping." She patted her hand one last time before letting go. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Felicity gave her a little smile, while Diggle offered her a nod of farewell, and with that, Sara was on her way. Before she met Helena back in the clocktower, she needed to make a stop first. To check up on her sister.

From the little information Diggle had supplied her with, Laurel hadn't spoken to anyone since she and Felicity had been taken by Slade Wilson. And Slade was, in himself, a whole other can of worms Sara wished she could keep sealed. But that past had spilled into this present and sooner or later, she knew she would have to face the part she had played in that history. With both Felicity _and_ her sister.

Still, she needed to check up on Laurel first.

And then, she would need to speak to her father.

* * *

><p>Sara sat at the counter's far end, waiting for her father to come through the doors of their rendezvous place of choice.<p>

She had looked through Laurel's window not an hour earlier, watching her sister cloaked in darkness save for the lone lamp that cast shadows on her face. Sara had seen papers scattered around, clothes slung over chairs haphazardly and far too many empty wine bottles. And Laurel –

Laurel looked terrible.

And now, Sara was meeting their father.

She smiled when the door was pulled open with far too much enthusiasm, and her father appeared in sight, his eyes taking in the patrons until they landed on her; he crossed the space in barely a few hurried strides.

Sara welcomed his hug, letting him hold her as tightly as he liked, for as long as he liked.

"I missed you, baby," she heard him say, and squeezed him tighter for a moment.

"I missed you, too, Daddy," she told him softly, taking a deep breath before pulling away.

"I didn't think you'd be back," he said, running a hand over her hair. "Not for a while, anyway."

"I wasn't planning on it." Sara stepped away from his arms, retaking her seat; her father followed suit. "But I had to," she said. After a beat, she added, "Felicity sent me a message. She said I was needed here...that Laurel needed me, after what happened."

Her father gave her a studying look, then sighed. "You probably know more about it than I do, then," he concluded. "The truth is, I don't – " He sighed again, and ran a hand over his face. "I'm not sure _what_ happened. When we got to Queen's offices, we just – we found nothing. Laurel barely said a thing about it. Oliver only mentioned this..._man_ who'd taken them hostage, said he didn't know him. Ms. Smoak didn't say much, either."

Sara looked away. She hadn't expected either Oliver or Felicity to mention Slade Wilson's name if they could help it – and Laurel had evidently made it easier for them to keep it secret. Diggle had said that Oliver's alter-ego had been kept secret from Laurel, too, so all that she did know was that a man named Slade Wilson had a score to settle with him; she knew who she had been meant to stand-in for, too. And _that_ was what worried Sara the most.

" – apparently, Oliver tossed him out of a window, but we found no body, and it only accounts for part of all the broken glass – "

She whipped her head around to face her father again. "Broken glass?"

He looked a little startled by the interruption, and the query, but eventually, he nodded. "Every glass surface in the place was shattered," he informed. "I have no idea how. The best theory we have is that the lunatic who took them did it for sport but – well, it's not much of a theory, is it?"

That was...strange.

She would have to ask Felicity about it. But it was also not what she wanted to speak to her father about.

"I think you're going to have to accept that you won't get all the answers here, Dad," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "So, you _do_ know more about this than I do?"

Sara gave him a little shrug in response. He shook his head at her, then asked, "Okay, then can I know where you've been?"

"Here and there," she told him, and he didn't seem to appreciate the vague response. So, she added, "I was in Coast City for a while." She smiled. "Watching over Mom."

"Does she know – "

"No." Sara shook her head. "She can't know I'm alive. Not yet." _Maybe not ever_. Too many people knew already – her father above all. It wasn't safe for him to know, in more ways than one. It wasn't safe for his own life, and if the League ever caught up with her and decided she had to pay her price for leaving, it wouldn't be safe for his heart, either.

Shaking that line of thought off, Sara said, "I was there for a few weeks. Then I...bounced from one place to another. I was actually in Argentina when Felicity called." She shrugged. "I packed and came straight here."

Her father hummed. "Well, the city's a mess – again. I think the Arrow could use your helping hand, actually."

Sara dropped her gaze to her hands. "The Arrow's gone, Dad," she whispered.

She could feel her father's posture shift beside her. "_Gone_?" he let out. "Is he – "

"He's not dead," she assured. "He's just...gone." She sighed. "And I don't think he's coming back anytime soon."

It was a while before her father spoke again. "So...does that mean _you're_ staying?"

She couldn't, not for long. But for now, she was needed.

"For a little while," she said. "At least until things...settle." With a deep breath, she added, "I went to see Laurel. She's not well, Dad."

It was his turn to look away. "No, she's not," he agreed, quietly. "She's not been well for a while now. Ever since the quake, and Tommy..." He shook his head. "She went after the Arrow, and that fell through, and then she...got all these ideas about Alderman Blood and how he wasn't who he said he is, and now _this_, whatever it was...and I don't know how to help her with any of it," he admitted, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose; Sara knew he was trying to hold back his tears, and felt some of her own burn at the corners of her eyes.

"Maybe if you talked to her, Sara – "

She shook her head resolutely. "No, Dad – "

"Baby, look – " he covered her hand with his own – "you did a bad thing back then, with Oliver, but...you're still her little sister. She loves you, misses you. She'll forgive you."

Sara wished she could believe it would be as easy as that. And there were things her father didn't know, about her and Oliver. But Laurel did now, thanks to Slade.

"Maybe," she allowed. "But there are other things to worry about, too."

"That's an understatement," her father grumbled. "This mysterious kidnapper, we have no leads on him – or any idea when or if he'll return. Or even what he wanted." He pursed his lips. "Of course, I think _you_ do have an idea, but I won't get to hear it. And then there's Merlyn...God only knows how _he_ came back. But he's nowhere to be found, either. The Glades are a mess, everyone's in a panic, everyone's outraged...we were barely recovering from the quake, and then he struck again."

Sara frowned. "He just disappeared? Merlyn, I mean."

"Yeah. He had Thea Queen. Ms. Smoak said the Arrow was going after him, and last I heard, he found nothing when he got there."

"That sounds like he fled," Sara whispered, more to herself than her father.

"Who the hell knows what goes on through his head? He's a madman. But, he did leave the Glades scattered...crime's on the rise again. We can barely keep up – actually, no, we can't keep up, which is why it's a good thing you're here." He gave her a little smile. "Even if it's just you."

Sara bit her lip. "Actually, Dad...it's not _just_ me."

Her father frowned. "You said the Arrow was gone."

"He is," she said, "but...I sort of met someone else while I was away, and they came here with me."

"Who?"

Considering what she had been told about her father's encounters with the Huntress, it was probably for the best not to go down that road just yet. "I can't really tell you," she said. "But I think you'll probably know soon enough." They were in the Huntress's hometown, after all, and every arrow of hers was a statement.

* * *

><p>At least there were actual windows in this tower.<p>

Well, if one could call a glass clock face with a hole in it a window.

Helena pressed her forehead against the cool surface, letting her eyes go over the city down below one more time. The whole of Starling was within her sights; the middle class apartment buildings and townhouses, the business district and its skyscrapers, the rich neighborhoods from where she had come. The Glades.

The Glades stood out from this high, like pitiful ruins in the middle of a harmonious landscape. She hadn't seen them after the quake, hadn't really cared. But the damage sustained then was still far from repaired – and now, they had been damaged again.

The soft clangs of metal and creak of leather sounded from behind her, until a quiet thud of feet hit the ground; apparently, stairs and doors were still for crazy people. Not Sara Lance.

"I'm starting to see a pattern with your hideouts of choice, you know," Helena commented.

"It's a good – "

"Yeah, yeah, a good vantage point," she finished the argument for Sara.

She heard the quiet huff of a chuckle before Sara stepped up to her, taking a place at her side. "You can see the whole city from up here," she said.

"Is that really the way to go here?" Helena countered. "This city's not exactly a sight for sore eyes these days."

Sara's eyes went over the city, and Helena knew she kept her attention on the Glades. "No, it's not," she agreed. "Malcolm Merlyn made very sure of that."

"The Dark Archer." Helena hummed. "Last time he was here, half the Glades fell. The little explosion he set off this time pales in comparison."

"That's because he fled," Sara said, piquing Helena's interest. "I spoke to my father," she added. "He said Merlyn had Oliver's sister, then when Oliver went to fight him, he was just gone."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "From what I heard about him, he doesn't seem like the kind of man who would cower before the Arrow. Much less flee."

"He wouldn't," Sara agreed. "He fled from someone else."

Well, she knew _that_ tone. Helena looked Sara over, noting the tense posture and set jaw. There was one subject, she had learned, that got the Canary in this state. "You know, I never asked," she began, "but those people I helped you with in Coast City...they were dressed like the Dark Archer." She shifted her stance, to face Sara more fully. "Was he part of the League, too?"

She didn't get her answer right away, but in the end, Sara nodded. "He was," she said. "But Ra's al Ghul released him."

Helena frowned. "If getting released is an option, why did _you_ run?"

"It's not – an option, I mean." Sara sighed. "Or maybe it was, just...not for me. But Merlyn didn't honor the terms of his release. He used what he was taught for his own gain, his own agenda. That's betrayal."

"So...Ra's al Ghul wants him dead, I assume?"

Sara pressed her lips together and when the words came out of her mouth, they sounded strained. "He does."

Helena took another step closer. "The Dark Archer wouldn't cower before the Arrow, but he would before Ra's al Ghul," she concluded. "You think he's here."

"No," Sara said. "I'd be dead already if he were. But I think – " She took a deep breath, then tried again. "I think he _was_ here. And if he wasn't, then he's coming."

"So, all the more reason for us to leave as soon as we can."

"No, Helena, I _can't_." She turned to her, eyes flashing with the kind of stubbornness that had brought them to Starling in the first place; Helena clenched her teeth.

"Why not?" she let out. "We saved your little friend, you saw your family – and they're _fine_."

"They're not fine!" Sara raised her voice. "They still need me! And _I_ still need to keep them safe!"

"They've managed without you for _six_ years," Helena countered. "But _you_ are running for your life, and you're prepared to risk it for – _what_, exactly?"

It looked like there were tears in Sara's away before she turned away; her head bowed and her hands came up to cover her face. Helena heard the ragged breath she took, saw her shoulders slump then straighten. She waited for her answer, though she was pretty sure what it would be.

"I can't leave," Sara said. Craning her head around just enough to look over her shoulder, she added, "You can, if you want to. I could never ask you stay just to fight my battles."

Sometimes, Helena wondered if Sara still only spoke all the right things to keep her at her side. She couldn't ask her to stay, no; but she could entice her with promises of battles.

And besides, they were both big on loyalty.

Helena cast another look at the city beneath them, then nodded. "I'll stay."


	12. II The Coveted - Ch 4

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

**_Origins_**

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter Four_

There was not much for a girl to do when one of her wrists was out of commission.

Bandaged wrist equaled useless hand, which translated into inability to deliver keystrokes. She could still type with one hand, of course, but speed and a full range of hand motions were a necessity for the kind of typing _she_ did. So, not fun times for Felicity.

At least she had John's paintings to admire at all hours. Of day _and_ night. Because she was currently at his place, so he could keep an eye on her better; she hadn't argued, if only for the fact that should the Triad come after her again, they wouldn't think to look here first.

Diggle seemed confident they _wouldn't_ try again, though. The Canary may not be known far and wide, but the Huntress was a household name around here – and as much as he'd grumbled about owing any thanks to Helena Bertinelli, one arrow of hers could be message enough if one knew how to read it. Which the Triad did.

Besides, even if they did still plot bad and nefarious things, they would soon have to realize that the Arrow wasn't around. Not that that necessarily meant they wouldn't want to finish the job just for kicks. Or whatever it was that motivated members of the mafia.

Anyway.

The point was, she and Digg were roommies now.

And right _now_ now, she was sitting on his couch flipping through channels while he did his bodyguard gig for a new client. Life went on, as it happened, and he, much like her, had to make a living.

It also happened that she wasn't left unattended for long.

"I don't actually need to be babysat every minute of every day, you know," she commented.

She could hear the faint sound of Sara's laughter as she came around the couch, and took her seat next to Felicity. "You heard me come in," she said. "I must be losing my touch."

Felicity shrugged. "Not really. I just may have convinced Digg to put up motion sensors and cameras on all points of entry." She raised her tablet, from where it lay in lap. "See?" She pointed to the screen. "Saw you coming from a mile away."

Sara smiled at that one. "Fair enough," she conceded.

Felicity returned her smile before growing serious again. "I meant what I said, by the way," she told her. "I don't know a round-the-clock babysitter."

"I'm not here to..._babysit_," Sara countered, pausing on the last word like it had left a bad taste in her mouth. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"And ask some questions," Felicity supplied.

Sara shook her head. "That can wait." Throwing an arm over the back of the couch, she asked, "So, how _are_ you doing?"

Felicity looked away. "Well, I rigged Digg's place with motion sensors and hidden cameras," she said quietly, "so...good?"

"You went through a lot," Sara told her. "No one expects you be completely fine – and more importantly, you shouldn't expect it from yourself."

"I know," Felicity whispered, taking a deep breath. "I'm just – it's not even that I'm scared or jumpy, which I am, but mostly I'm just – I'm _angry_," she said. "Like, how _insulting_ is it that I was this...this _bargaining chip_, that's only valuable because it matters to some man? And it happened _twice_ in ten days! I mean, hey, I know the world is made of misogynists, but _come on_!"

She pulled air in through her teeth, closing her eyes as she counted backwards from three to calm herself; her hands balled into fists on top of her tablet. It was quiet for a while, with only her deep, steadying breaths to fill the silence, until Sara spoke up.

"I'm angry, too," she said, her voice low and grave, and a little on the deadly side.

Felicity looked up to meet her eyes; they were cold and blue, and they showed she carried her anger like she would a keepsake around her neck.

"No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men," Sara went on, and it almost sounded like a poem verse to Felicity's ears. Or maybe a battle cry. "Or because of them – for their benefit, their pain..." Her eyes strayed from Felicity's, to focus on the room's far end. "I know exactly how you feel," she said. "I lived the same thing Slade put you through – it's _because_ I did that he took you. And my sister." She sighed. "The difference is, someone died so I wouldn't." Bringing her gaze back to meet Felicity's, she added, "But you already know that."

Felicity swallowed thickly. "Yeah," she said. "Shado."

The name was foreign to her, as was the woman behind it. It was just five letters, no face or true story to connect them with. She knew Shado had been on the island. She knew Shado had died there. And she knew _she_ was meant to die for _her_, here, in Starling. There once was a woman named Shado, apparently. And that was all Felicity knew. She was a myth, a ghost; a memory.

"I don't know anything about her," Felicity whispered.

Sara looked down, then back up again, and she asked, "Would you like me to tell you?"

Felicity nodded as quickly as she could.

A fleeting smile twitched Sara's lips before she started with her story. "I didn't really know her that well, or for very long," she began. "I came to Lian Yu with Anthony Ivo. I'm sure Slade has mentioned him." Felicity nodded again, so Sara proceeded. "It's not an allegiance I'm proud of," she said, "but he was the one who rescued me after the Gambit went down, and...well, I was at his side back then. He was looking for this...miracle serum, which – well, it's not really the important part here. And we came across Ollie...and his friends." Her mouth quirked at the corner. "You know, the first time I saw Ollie's green hood, it was on Shado."

Felicity blinked. "The hood is hers?" she let out.

"It was her father's," Sara explained. "His name was Yao Fei. When he died, Shado wore the hood. And when _she_ died – "

"Oliver did," Felicity said quietly. She'd never known that.

Sara nodded. "Yeah. And just like her father, Shado was an archer." After a quiet breath, she added, "She was the one who taught Ollie."

"Wait, she – she was the one who taught Oliver archery?" Felicity let out. "But that's...that's – " _That's everything_. She could feel tears starting to prickle her eyes as she said, "He's the _Arrow_, it's – it's who he _is_. And he wears her hood, and uses the skill she taught and – and that's him honoring her, right? But..." She shook her head. "He never talked about her."

Sara looked away. "All things considered, I don't think he wanted to."

"Because of how she died," Felicity guessed.

After some moments of silence, Sara resumed her story. "Slade was hurt," she said. "He was dying, and we – we thought giving him the serum was his only chance. Turns out, it worked, but...not right away. And we'd crossed Anthony to get Slade the serum, so...when he found us, he...bound our hands behind our backs and forced Shado and me to our knees." She gulped. "And then he told Oliver to choose."

"He...didn't _really_ choose, right?"

"No." Sara shook her head. "I mean, I don't know. He says he did, but...I couldn't tell you how much of it was really a choice on his part and how much of it is just his guilt telling him it was." She sighed. "What I know is, Ivo pointed the gun at my head and Oliver threw himself in front of me. And then, Shado was dead."

Felicity had no words to offer to that.

"They threw her body in the water," Sara went on. "The current took it away, we couldn't find her – Oliver and Slade wanted to bury her next to her father, but...we couldn't find the body. And Slade, he...he vowed to get revenge on whoever was responsible for her death and..." She shrugged. "He blamed Oliver, once he found out – and me. So, what you and Laurel went through, it was because of...what Oliver did for me." There was a hitch in her voice as she added, "I'm sorry, Felicity."

The shake of Felicity's head came immediately. "It's not your fault."

"It's getting really hard to tell what is and isn't my fault," Sara whispered. "But I am sorry," she added. "That you got up in...the fallout of a past you had nothing to do with."

Felicity managed to muster a small smile and a nod, just to let Sara know she accepted her apology. She didn't need or want it, but she understood why Sara did.

After a beat, Sara licked her lips and, quietly, queried, "Can I ask _you_ something now?"

"Of course." She had a feeling what the question would be about, but she let Sara ask anyway.

With a deep breath, she did. "How much does Laurel know?"

"She heard everything I did," Felicity said. "She knows that one doctor Anthony Ivo shot a woman named Shado because Oliver 'chose' to save you. Of course," she added, more quietly, "that means she knows you didn't die when the Gambit went down. She knows you were on the island – that you 'died' _there_. So, she knows Oliver lied about that."

Sara closed her eyes and hung her head, bringing her fingers to press against her brow. "It's what I asked him to do, you know," she muttered. "I told him to say I'd died on the Gambit, if he came home and I didn't." Her hand made its way down her face, until it curled into a loose fist against her mouth. "And now, Laurel has another reason to hate me."

"I don't think she hates you," Felicity said quietly.

"Well, she has good reasons to," Sara whispered. "Not the least of which is that she nearly died as a stand-in for _me_." She shook her head, paused to take a breath, then added, "I spoke to my father. He said there was broken glass everywhere, in Ollie's office."

Felicity nodded. "Yeah, that was...weird. I don't actually remember it well, it just – it gets blurry after a while." She frowned. "Why, what are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure," Sara admitted. "But it's...strange."

"Like, 'this is exactly what happens every time you turn on one of your sonic-things' strange?" Felicity guessed.

After cracking a small smile, Sara nodded. "Basically, yeah," she said. "But maybe I'm just...projecting? There weren't any devices like that in the room, were there?"

"No." Felicity shook her head. "But Laurel did scream at one point."

"You think her scream broke the glass?"

"Hey, if the pitch was high enough, why not?"

"_Every_ glass surface in the _entire_ office?" Sara deadpanned.

Felicity pursed her lips. "Okay, maybe not."

A smile twitched the corner of Sara's mouth before she dragged her eyes away from Felicity and to some spot in the distance; in the quiet afterward, Felicity could nearly hear the sound of the wheels turning in her mind. But she'd keep whatever further theories or thoughts she had to herself, until the circumstances were such that she wanted, or needed, to share them.

Kind of like someone else she knew.

Clearing her throat, Felicity prompted, "Sara?"

She had her full attention in a second.

And she didn't really know what to say now. There had been a lump in her throat, just lodged there ever since Oliver had packed his bags, and it never stopped reminding her of what she had lost.

She felt the tears prickle at her eyes, even as she just opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water; Sara shifted closer to her, running a hand down the length of her arm. Her voice was soft and encouraging as she prompted, "Just say it, Felicity."

"He – he left," she managed to get out, and once she started, the words just kept pouring out. "And I don't get it, which is actually fine, he makes his choices, we all do, but – but if he's gone, then there's no more Team Arrow either." She shook her head. "Digg and I can't do it by ourselves, so...without Oliver, we can't keep doing the work we used to, and...and it's not that I'll miss him – I mean, I will, he's my friend, but...I _loved_ the work we did." She pulled in a shaky breath. "And I don't want to give it up."

She hadn't let herself say the words out loud before. The truth was, it hurt; everything about this hurt. What hurt the most, though, was desperately wanting something she couldn't have anymore. Being the hero behind the curtain.

Next thing she knew, Sara's arm was winding around her shoulders and Felicity let herself be pulled into her side, resting her head in the crook of Sara's neck.

"I suck at fighting," Felicity whispered. "Like, really, _really_ suck at it. I'm – I'm not fieldwork material, I can't do what – " she sniffled – "Oliver, and Digg, and you can, but...what I _can_ do, I'm really good at, and – and with the team, I got to use that. I was...I was one of the heroes on the block, you know?"

She felt the slight brush of Sara's chin against her head in small nod; her hand was gently laid against Felicity's hair next, her fingers stroking lightly over the strands. Felicity closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the touch.

"But Digg and I can't make it work," she went on. "And Roy is – " she sighed – "_Roy_, and...bottom line is, we need Oliver. His skill-set. So, now that he's gone, I...I can't do what I love anymore, and – and I don't know how to deal with that." She gave a small, helpless shrug. "I don't want to give it up," she repeated quietly.

Sara was silent for a while after that, just running her fingers over Felicity's hair, combing through it every now and then. Eventually, she said, "Well, maybe you don't have to."

It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did, Felicity frowned. "What do you mean?"

She felt Sara's deep breath in the rise and fall of her chest. "What I mean is," Sara spoke, "Oliver's not the only one with that skill-set."

Felicity couldn't help her little twinge of hope. "You're staying?"

"Not for long, I don't think. But a while," Sara said. "And I'm not the only one."

Felicity blinked, and then it sunk in. She straightened, pulling away from her cozy position on Sara's shoulder to meet the other woman's eyes. "You can't be suggesting what I think you're suggesting," she let out.

Slowly, Sara's hand fell away from where it had remained at the back of Felicity's head, and she sighed. "I know you have a lot of unpleasant history with Helena," she said, "but I stand by what I told you, and Diggle, at Verdant. She's not as bad as you think she is. She helped save you. And she's staying in Starling...for me."

"There's a difference between owing _one_ debt of gratitude to her and becoming her fan," Felicity countered. More quietly, she added, "Frank Bertinelli's dead, you know. I'd kept tabs, so...his body washed up in Edge City, with an arrow through his heart." She shook her head. "She killed her father, Sara."

Sara held her gaze, even as her posture grew stiffer and her eyes more guarded. "I know," she said at length. "I helped her do it."

Felicity froze in her spot. "You – what?"

"We met in Coast City," Sara told her. "It was...bumpy, but she helped save _me_, too. So, I offered to help her in turn." She shrugged. "What she wanted was to get to her father. I helped her with that."

Something had to be getting lost in translation here, Felicity thought, because... "She killed her _father_."

Sara pressed her lips together, then looked away. "I don't get it either," she said, "what it's like to feel what she did. I love _my_ father – I love him so much. But Helena hated hers. And just because I don't understand it doesn't mean it didn't make sense to her – _for_ her."

Maybe she just wasn't getting her point across right. "It's _patricide_!" Felicity let out. "She actually _killed_ her own father."

"It was what she wanted," Sara maintained. She licked her lips, then added, her voice growing softer, "I thought you of all people would be inclined to try and accept it."

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"I just mean that," Sara nearly whispered, "you don't know what it's like to feel like I do – or Ollie, or even Digg. What it feels like to be a killer. To...barely have a few scarps of your soul left. But you don't think less of us for it." She shrugged. "I guess I just thought that, if you can see me – _us_, as more than what we've done, you could do the same for Helena, too."

Felicity opened her mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in her throat; she had no idea what to say.

After a moment, Sara gave her a wan smile. "It was just a thought." She shook her head, as if to dismiss it.

Oddly enough, Felicity felt like she had just been kicked down from some sort of pedestal. "I'd work with you, Sara," she said. "But not with her."

"Like I said," Sara reiterated, "it was just a thought. _But_," she added, "this city does need help, so...if you change your mind, you have two people you can call. At least for a while."

It was...tempting.

Even after Sara left, with a warm goodbye and a squeeze of her hand, Felicity couldn't stop thinking about the Canary's words. It was probably ridiculous to even be considering it; working with Helena Bertinelli was so beyond the realm of possibility that Felicity could barely wrap her mind around the idea. And it was just as ridiculous to consider that the Huntress would want to work with _her_.

Still, to have an opportunity to keep doing what she loved, and help _the city_ that she loved...it tempted her.

* * *

><p>"So, I stopped a carjacking tonight," Helena announced while the clocktower's narrow staircase rattled under her feet. "And I broke into a supermarket to get us snacks." She dangled two bags in front of her, then let them drop to the floor. "How was <em>your<em> night?"

Sara smiled. "I...went to check up on Felicity," she said.

She couldn't see Helena's face as the latter disposed of her mask and moved to take off her gloves, but she was fairly certain she was rolling her eyes.

"I asked her if she wanted to join us," Sara added after a moment's hesitation.

Helena stilled, and when she turned around, Sara was greeted to her most unimpressed look. "What?"

"She wants to keep doing what she used to, with her team." Sara shrugged. "So, I suggested she could have a new one, with us."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Helena deadpanned.

Sara sighed, then averted her eyes. "It was just a thought," she muttered.

"Yeah, a hopeless dreamer's thought," Helena commented. "You're certainly not that. Besides," she added, "don't you think you ought to consult me first, before making proposals in my name?"

"It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing," Sara defended. "And she said no anyway."

"You sound so disappointed."

In truth, she was. She hadn't come back with the intent of having her own team, or working with anyone other than Helena – or even helping the city, for that matter. But as she was listening to Felicity speak, the idea struck her; and now she wanted it.

The creak of Helena's footsteps grew closer, until she was right by her side. "You are, aren't you?" she asked.

Sara opened her mouth to deny it, but her intended words of protest only turned into a sigh. "I guess I was just...fond of the idea," she allowed. "And I – " she shrugged – "I thought she'd see things differently."

"By 'things', you mean _me_, right?" Helena guessed. "I'm pretty sure she would have jumped at the opportunity to be _your_ crime-fighting girlfriend." She clucked her tongue. "Felicity Smoak is _never_ going to agree to work with someone like me."

"You're not so bad," Sara said softly.

"And you're the only one who thinks that."

Sara turned her head to the side just enough to get a look at Helena's face; there was a certain look Sara had grown used to seeing on the other woman's face, that betrayed her vulnerability, and the little heart she was still willing to give.

Eventually, Sara nodded.

After a moment, Helena asked, "How about we focus on what we're actually here for now? We need to see if your past is really coming back to haunt you, and if it is, how long before it's here."

"We need to figure out why Merlyn fled," Sara agreed. "Was it Ra's that spooked him, or just the promise that he'd come for him?"

"We've been brainstorming for days," Helena pointed out. "All it amounts to is a guessing game."

"Then let's get some real answers," Sara proposed.

"And how do we go about that?"

"We find out what the last person who saw Merlyn knows."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "You want to squeeze little Thea Queen for answers? Because I don't see her opening up to either of us willingly."

"That may be so," Sara allowed. "But I have another way in."

She smiled at the intrigued look on Helena's face. "It's time we let my friend Sin know I'm back in town."


	13. II The Coveted - Ch 5

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II .The Coveted_**

_Chapter Five_

"How do we always end up here?"

Sara rolled her eyes at Helena's remark, though maybe she had a point; they did seem to end by at the docks a lot, wherever they went.

This time, however, they were doing it in daylight – with a few accessories to make them less easy to recognize, of course. Sin had a place by the docks where she liked to hang out, often by herself, and Sara hoped to catch her at such a time.

Her friend didn't disappoint.

She jumped from behind a few barrels, poised to either fight or run, then promptly froze in the spot; the next moment, Sara was catching her in a hug.

"Good to see you, too," Sara told her warmly when Sin pulled back, taking a moment to give the girl a proper onceover; she looked good. Better than when she'd last seen her.

Sin was still holding onto her arms, with a smile that showed all her teeth, and she looked like she was about to speak when Helena's presence finally seemed to catch her attention. Her head tipped to the side. "Who's your friend?"

Sara looked over her shoulder, to where Helena stood a couple of steps away. "Sin, this – " she motioned for her partner to come closer – "is Helena."

Helena stepped up to them, briefly waving her fingers through the air. "Hi."

Sin frowned for a moment, before her eyes widened. "Wait...Helena, as in Helena Bertinelli, as in the _Huntress_?"

Sara could have laughed at the way her jaw dropped.

"You're friends with the Huntress, no way!" Sin let out.

Helena clucked her tongue. "Well, at least people still remember me," she commented.

Sara shook her head, smiling at the dumbstruck expression on Sin's face, before she asked, "So, how've you been?"

There was a beat, where she still looked at Helena like she couldn't quite comprehend that she was there, before she shrugged, a little smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "I got myself a high-profile friend, too," she said, and Sara couldn't help but grin. Same old Sin.

"As it happens, that's exactly why we're here," Helena interjected.

It only took a moment for Sin's expression to grow more guarded. "What do you want with her?"

"Malcolm Merlyn, actually," Sara said, to which Sin turned her wary look on her. "Look, Sin," she added, "there's a lot you don't know about me. Like why I left without saying goodbye last time."

"Yeah, that was a dick move," Sin agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"She does have a history of those," Helena supplied, making Sin frown; Sara cleared her throat pointedly.

"Wait..." Helena let out, catching on. "You don't know who she is, do you?"

"I know enough," Sin stated flatly.

Sara threw a rather self-satisfied look in Helena's direction; the latter ducked her head to hide her smile.

"I'd tell you more," Sara turned back to Sin, dropping her voice to a more serious note, "but it's best for everyone, and me, that very few people know the whole truth."

Sin gave an annoyed little tilt of her head. "Yeah, I get that," she deadpanned. "So, Malcolm Merlyn?"

"We need to know why he ran," Sara said simply. "And your friend Thea was the last to see him."

"So...what? You want me to fish for answers?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Helena said sweetly.

Sin spared them both looks, then stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Look," she said, "it's cool that you're going after that freak or whatever, but Queen's in a bad place right now, and Abercrombie's not helping either. So, I'm not down with adding to that and lying to her."

"You don't have to," Sara told her, just as Helena asked, "Who's Abercrombie?"

"He's the boyfriend," Sara informed quickly before turning back to Sin. "I'm not asking you to lie to her about who you need the answers for, Sin. You can tell her who's asking – " Helena made a little noise of protest but Sara ignored her – "and why. And...if she agrees to it, then there might be some answers in it for her, too."

"Like what?" Sin asked.

Sara gave her a small smile. "Depends on what she'd like to know."

Her friend didn't seem to appreciate the cryptic turn of her words, but eventually, she nodded. "I'll see what I can do," she agreed.

Sara nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll text you the number you can reach me on."

"Okay, cool. See ya around, Blondie."

* * *

><p>"Were you out again last night?"<p>

Thea watched as Roy paused in his tracks, his eyes dropping to the crate of vodka he was carrying to storage – which he was doing while trying to avoid running into her.

She marched up to him, planting herself firmly in his line of sight. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she asked. "Because you don't have to go to all this trouble, you can just ask me to do it."

He clenched his jaw, and she just knew she was about to get treated to another tirade about the Arrow and his mission and how someone had to stand up for the city with him, and how he was a role-model and whatever else not.

"I can't just do nothing, Thea," he told her. "Especially not now after – " He stopped himself short, but she knew what he was going to say.

"Now that my _father_ targeted the Glades again, right?"she asked bitterly.

Roy looked away, moving to let the crate drop onto the bar with a thud before turning back to her. "Yeah," he said bluntly. "And after he kidnapped you and wanted to take you who-knows-where, and I couldn't do anything about it."

She cocked her head to the side. "What, no big speech about how the Arrow tried to stop him and that makes him an example all who can pack half-a-punch should follow?"

Roy's face hardened. "This isn't about him anymore," he said quietly, with an amount of disdain Thea had never heard him speak with before. Not about the precious vigilante, anyway.

"Since when?" she let out.

"Since he left!" Roy snapped. "He's gone, he bailed on this city, but _someone_ has to keep doing what he did!"

Thea felt the sinking in her gut that told her she was about to find out someone else she loved had been lying to her. "How do you know that he left?" she asked quietly.

When Roy's face fell and he looked away again, she had her answer. "You were working with him, weren't you?" she hissed.

"No, I – " Roy sighed. "Not really. He was teaching me, training me, and I was – I was his eyes and ears on the streets."

_Unbelievable_. "So, all this time, you were his little sidekick?" Thea raised her voice. "Even after you told me you were done with him and everything he did? You were lying to me!"

"No, Thea, I – "

"You _what_?" she fired back. "I mean, you were the one person I expected to be honest with me, and you just – no, you know what, I can't do this right now." She shook her head. "I'm way too tired of being lied to, and then having people tell me it was to protect me or because they loved me or whatever – 'cause that's what you were going to say, right?" His expression told her she was right on all counts, so she nodded. "That's what I thought."

She turned away, walking until she was exiting the club, and ignoring Roy's calls to wait all the while. She got into her car, slammed the door shut, and just let her head hit the seat; everyone seemed to be under this impression that their lies would protect her when, in fact, she rather thought that it was the lies she needed protecting from.

She flinched when a loud tap came from the passenger side window, only to sigh when Sin's face floated into view. Her friend didn't wait for an invitation before she was letting herself in. "What's wrong?" she asked when she'd made herself comfortable in the passenger's seat.

Thea felt like laughing. Hysterically. "That's a long list," she said, "but right now, what's wrong is that my boyfriend was _also_ lying to me, just like my mother and brother, and has actually been moonlighting as the vigilante's little sidekick for months."

She turned to Sin, only to find that the latter looked rather...guilty.

Thea huffed. "You knew, didn't you?"

"I...kind of did," Sin admitted. "But like, even before you and I hung out and – "

"That really doesn't make it any better."

" – I sort of knew when I led him to my friend so she could beat him up for answers. Speaking of that – "

"Your friend beat him – what?"

"Oh, no, she didn't, she just – okay, look." Sin shifted in her seat, turning to face Thea fully. "This friend of mine, right, she's sort of...into the whole vigilante thing, too. A little."

Thea only raised an eyebrow at her.

"Uh, remember that woman who was beating up creeps in the Glades a while back?" Sin asked next. "Like, before we met?"

There had been a few rumors and reports about a woman going through the Glades and beating up rapists and similar scum that Thea remembered; slowly, she nodded.

"That's my friend."

"You know her? Who is she?"

"I don't..._really_ know."

"You just said you knew her."

"Well, I don't _know her_, know her – I mean, I don't know like, her full name or anything, I just...know her."

"Right," Thea deadpanned.

More quietly, Sin added, "She saved _me_ from some creeps, too. And we just...spend some time together, I guess, down in the Glades. Anyway – " she cleared her throat – "she's back in town."

"That's...nice."

"And she brought a friend."

"Okay..."

"That friend being the Huntress."

Thea blinked at her friend. "Helena Bertinelli?" she let out. "What sort of people do you hang out with?"

Sin gave her a very pointed look, then said, "I don't actually hang with the Huntress – though that'd be kinda sweet..."

When Thea raised an eyebrow, Sin pressed her lips together and gave a little nod. "Right, so the point is," she went back to her original thread of conversation, "they're both in Starling, and they're..._interested_, in Merlyn."

Thea huffed. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

"I don't know what they're after exactly," Sin went on, "but they wanna know why he ran. Apparently, that's important. So, they – "

"Want _you_ to get answers out of _me_," Thea concluded. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't actually know why he went up and away, or why he didn't stick around to kill the Arrow, or why he didn't go through with his plan to whisk me away so we could form some sick, twisted, happy family – "

"Whoa, slow down," Sin cut in. "It's not like that – I mean, it is, but..." She sighed. "I'm telling you all of this 'cause I wanna do this whole honesty thing with you. So, here's the deal: you're the last person who saw him, so they think you might know something. And they said there could be some answers in it for you, too."

"What does that mean?"

"I've no idea."

How insightful.

Thea fell quiet, considering her options. _Oh, what the hell, she thought_. "Okay, I'll tell them exactly what happened with Merlyn," she agreed. "But I wanna do it in person."

"Wait...you wanna meet with them?"

Thea nodded. "Yeah."

Sin let out a low whistle. "Hey, I'd be happy to play the messenger, but this works too. And I gotta say, you've got guts, Queen."

Maybe. But these days, she didn't feel like much of a Queen at all. Her entire life was built on lies, apparently, and the one solitary truth she had now was that she didn't really know who she was anymore.

* * *

><p>Felicity stared the at the TV, intent on immersing herself in some quality mindless sitcom, but none of the flickering images really registered and everything that was said only sounded like white noise.<p>

"How's the hand?"

She smiled when Diggle plopped down on the couch next to her, offering her a beer. Taking the bottle with her good hand, she said, "Let me put it this way: you'll have to grab that bowl over there by yourself."

John snorted, leaning in to snatch the bowl of nachos on the coffee table. "It'll heal just fine," he assured. "Give it a little time."

"Too bad I'm not the patient kind," she grumbled, then turned to him with a small smile. "So, how was your day?"

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he told her, "but I think working for Oliver spoiled me. I'd forgotten how profoundly _boring_ this line of work actually is."

Felicity chuckled. "Entitled rich white boys giving you grief?"

"That too," he said. "But – I don't know. I guess I miss all the..._excitement_. And after what we did, everything else just...seems less glamorous in comparison."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Felicity agreed quietly. And evidently, John knew her too well not to notice that statement was full of underlying meaning.

"So," he prompted softly, "how was _your_ day?"

Felicity let herself sink into the cushions, resting her cheek against the back of the couch. "You know how I told you Sara came by last night?" she asked and waited for him to nod before adding, "Well, she wasn't just checking up on me – I mean, she was, kind of, but...well, she also said some stuff and..." She sighed. "Now I can't stop thinking about it."

"About what?"

"I was...telling her about how I miss what we used to do, and how I don't want to give it up," Felicity said quietly, picking at the hem of her pajamas, "but how you and I can't make it work without Oliver and his skill-set, so Sara..._pointed out_, that there are..._people_ who do have said skill-set and are currently here." She bit her lip. "Her and Helena."

Diggle barked a short laugh. "That's funny."

But when Felicity didn't add anything further, he grew still. "Wait, you're not – Felicity, are you seriously considering this?"

"I'm not," she said quickly. "I mean, I am – no, I'm not. Okay, maybe I am." She sighed when John looked so dumbstruck he couldn't even put on any sort of discernible facial expression. "Don't look at me like that, Digg, it's..._tempting_."

"Really?" he deadpanned. "So, the work we used to do, the kind of team we had – you'd be okay with doing all of that alongside _Helena Bertinelli_?"

Felicity looked down at her hands. "I don't – I don't know," she whispered. "Sara thinks she's okay, maybe..."

"Maybe what? Maybe she's not a psycho?" Diggle let out. "She killed her own father."

"I know," she said. "So does Sara. She...helped Helena track him down."

It took a moment for that to sink in with Diggle; he only shook his head and blew out a quiet breath. "Just because she's Sara's friend, doesn't mean she's yours too, Felicity," he said.

"I know that, but – okay, I did some digging today, and it took a really long time, since you know, one functional hand – I actually had to use a _mouse_ at one point – but I've found a pattern. Since Frank Bertinelli died, there's been a string of entire local branches of the mob, especially Italian, being taken down, all over the country – actually, not just the country, since I have that nifty trojan that feeds me A.R.G.U.S. intel, and there was this drug cartel bust in Columbia and a Bratva member was taken out in Buenos Aires, and – and I think that was them, Digg. Sara and Helena." She paused for a moment, replenishing her air supply, before she quietly added, "It's what we used to do, too, right? Taking down organized crime when we could?"

John was silent for a while. "Just because a former mob princess has an ax to grind with the mafia," he eventually said, "doesn't make her like us, Felicity. And just because she did it with Sara by her side doesn't mean they're the kind of team we were." He shook his head. "I don't think they do it for the same reasons we did."

"Yeah, but...Oliver wasn't exactly Mr. Noble Intentions when he started out, right?" she pointed out. "When _we_ started out, with him. Nothing is just black-and-white...working with you guys taught me that."

That did earn her a small, and maybe just a wee bit proud, smile from Diggle. He blew out a long, deep breath, then asked, "So, how long have you spent trying to convince yourself this could actually be a good idea?"

Well, he had her there. But on the bright side, she never really had to hide anything from John. "Too long, probably," she admitted.

"Felicity, I'm not going to change my mind about Helena," he said, "but I can't tell you what to think either. Just..." With a sigh, he set the bowl of nachos aside and covered her hand with his. "Be sure this isn't just you trying to get back to what you loved in whichever way you can without thinking it through."

"Wise words," she agreed softly, squeezing his fingers in gratitude. He returned the gesture with a smile and a raise of his beer bottle; Felicity brought her own to clank against it, in toast to the wisdom of John Diggle.

* * *

><p>Helena grunted at the sharp sting of wood against her mouth, tasting blood on her tongue as she licked over the spot.<p>

"You take too long between attacking and reverting to defense," Sara chided. "It leaves you vulnerable."

Straightening, Helena ran her thumb over her split lip. "I'll keep that in mind when I come at someone with a stick."

"A _bō_," Sara corrected.

"It's a long wooden stick," Helena deadpanned.

Sara grinned. "Hey, you're the one who said you wanted me to teach you everything I knew," she reminded. "Maybe you should stop complaining every time we practice."

_With long wooden sticks_, Helena thought sourly. "Well, I didn't think it'd involve this much of you trying to knock all of my teeth out," she retorted. "I'm better with just my bare hands."

"The _bō _is an extension of your limbs," Sara said. "It follows all the same rules you already use when you fight. And if you master it, then it will improve your hand-to-hand skills, too."

Helena pursed her lips. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I didn't either, at first. Before it grew on me." Sara told her. "Got half of _my_ teeth knocked out."

Helena cocked her head to the side; there were no gaping holes in the other woman's mouth that she could see. "What, does being in the League come with dental benefits?"

Sara's head tipped from one side to the other. "More like, one of its members is a dentist."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "A dentist assassin?"

With a small shrug, Sara said, "She does wonders with veneers. And knives."

And the infamous League of Assassins kept on being demystified, Helena thought. She gripped the damned woode – the _bō, _tighter and shifted her stance. "Again?"

Sara complied with a smile. When she charged, Helena deflected, and when Helena dealt her own blows, she took care to revert back to a defensive stance more quickly; Sara smirked when she got better at it.

Helena spun in her spot, aiming the _bō _at Sara's head; she knew her partner would duck, and try and kick her legs from under her as she crouched. Helena jumped when the wood came sweeping at her shins, intending to land a blow in that split-second of shifting stances Sara had caught her in so many times.

But the Canary, of course, was a master of her craft, and Helena's staff only met wood on its way down. Still, Sara grinned. "You almost had me," she praised.

"_Almost_," Helena emphasized, preparing to strike again, only to pause when the tower began filling with the sounds of vibration against concrete, and some obnoxious bird song. "Your ringtone is the sound of chirping _birds_?" she let out.

Sara only threw a quick grin over her shoulder in response, already moving to take the call. Helena gathered it was Sin calling with news – or lack thereof. There wasn't much said on Sara's part during the conversation, only a few words and some humming, but Helena noticed her furrowed brow; evidently, the news were different from what she had expected.

"Okay," Sara said eventually. "I'll call you back."

"So?" Helena prompted once she hung up.

Sara clucked her tongue. "Thea wants to meet with us," she informed. "Talk to us face-to-face."

Well, that was certainly not how Helena had envisioned this going down. "So much for her not wanting to talk to us _willingly_, I guess," she commented.

"Hmm," Sara agreed absentmindedly, staring down at her phone.

"Something else you'd like to share?"

"No." Sara shook her head. "It's just that...I haven't actually _spoken_ to Thea since she was a kid. She was twelve when Oliver and I boarded the Gambit." She let out a soft chuckle. "Little Speedy."

"Speedy?" Helena echoed dryly.

"Oliver used to call her that all the time," Sara said, sounding a little wistful. Her eyes dropped to the ground as she added, "Tommy did, too."

_Ah, Tommy Merlyn_. "I broke his wrist once."

Sara raised an eyebrow; Helena shrugged. "Oliver wasn't being cooperative."

Pursing her lips, Sara said, "Well, just refrain from breaking _anyone's_ bones if Thea isn't cooperative either."

"Don't worry, I'm reformed now," Helena waved her concerns off. "Partially, anyway."

Sara only shook her head.


	14. II The Coveted - Ch 6

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter Six_

The back alley of what used to be a kindergarten was scarcely lit, and smelled like something had died there about ten times over.

Not that Thea had expected otherwise from this part of the Glades.

She stuffed her hands in her coat's pockets, letting her eyes skim the skyline one more time; there were several five or six story buildings within her sights, making for black shadows against the night sky and the one, barely functioning streetlight.

"Chill, Queen," Sin told her, from where she was half-propped against a dumpster – something that Thea, frankly, considered to be unsanitary accommodations. "They'll be here."

Pulling air through her nose, Thea tried to rein in on her nerves. She wasn't scared, or really all that nervous, but she was wired with anticipation, and her muscles felt as taut as one of her old bowstrings.

"You said that ten minutes ago," she remarked, sparing her friend a glance over her shoulder; Sin rolled her eyes. A second later, they widened.

Thea whipped her head back around, following Sin's line of sight, her eyes drawn back to the sharp lines of the blackened rooftops – except, there were two shapes standing out against the sky now, too.

They split after a moment, one going for the rusted pipes that ran down along the building's façade; the other just leaped over the edge.

Thea's breath caught when the woman began falling through the air; the building was too high to jump off of, even –

Then, she realized the woman wasn't falling though the thin air at all; she was rolling down a long streak of shimmery, dark fabric, right up to the moment when she landed on the ground in a crouch.

"Oh, that is way cool," Sin let out, and Thea had to admit, it was sort of...fascinating. Beautiful, too. Striking.

Next to the woman, her companion made her own landing, having slid down the drainage pipes.

Both rose slowly, stepping closer, and Thea found herself gripping the insides of her pockets in her hands.

When they were within the reach of the lone streetlight, Thea's eyes went over them both, settling on the woman that was familiar to her.

"Hi, Thea," Helena Bertinelli said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "It's been a while."

She had known of the Huntress, of course – of who Helena really was. She had never seen her in the role, though, not with her own eyes. There were patches of purple in the black leather she wore, and her matching black mask framed her eyes so that, even in the dim lighting, they stood out a cold blue; her lips were painted a very deep red and, Thea noted, there was a crossbow secured at her hip, peeking out from beneath her coat.

"Hmm," Thea agreed. "Guess that's what happens when you get caught trying to kill your father and have to make a run for it."

Helena's mouth pulled at the corners, into a crooked grin. "Well, that's all done with now," she told her.

Thea took that to mean that Frank Bertinelli wasn't among the living anymore. She faintly recalled, now that her memory was jogged, a news report buzzing in the background of Verdant, about a body found in Edge City and who it was. The Huntress had, evidently, gotten her prey.

Who just so happened to be her own father.

Not that Thea couldn't sympathize with a lack of love for fathers.

She turned her eyes to the woman next to Helena, and frowned; the woman was watching her, and even with a black mask obscuring her face, the piercing blue eyes held familiarity, though Thea couldn't quite place it.

Instead of dwelling on it, she said, "I take it you're Sin's friend."

The woman smiled faintly at that, her eyes flickering to Thea's right for a moment; following her gaze, she found that Sin was smiling back – and looked a little too excited by all of this.

"That's me," the woman said next, and her voice, much like the way her eyes had gone over her, prickled at the back of Thea's mind; it rang distinctive to her ears, and she swore she'd heard it before.

Which was a ridiculous idea.

"So," Thea prompted, "what do I call you? 'Sin's friend' is kind of a mouthful."

The woman's lips pressed together, like she might be stifling a smile, and it struck Thea again just how much it felt like she had seen the woman before.

"A lot of people call me Canary."

Thea raised an eyebrow, eyes cutting from one woman to the other. "So, you're the Huntress...and the Canary?" she reiterated, a bad joke about bird-hunting season on the tip of her tongue.

"So cool," Sin breathed out, making Thea shake her head. _Way too excited about all of this_.

"Well, now that that's out of the way," Helena spoke up, "let's move on to what we came here for."

Thea straightened on instinct, her hands curling into fists again.

"Right," she said. "Sin said you were interested in Malcolm Merlyn. Why?"

Helena shook her head. "Come on, Thea," she chided. "You know that's not how this works."

"I'm not telling you _anything_," Thea fired back, "until I know why you're asking."

That earned her a cautioning little head-quirk from the Huntress, like she was warning her not to push her luck; Thea only squared her shoulders.

"You're tough," Helena commented next, her mouth twitching at the corner. "Malcolm Merlyn must be so proud of his little daughter."

Thea stilled, before whipping her head towards Sin; the latter raised her hands in surrender. "I didn't say anything about that," she denied quickly.

"It's not really a well-kept secret," Helena said. "Especially when you're getting kidnapped by the Dark Archer and the Arrow tries to rescue you." She clucked her tongue. "Being the daughter of the man who destroyed this city, now that is – "

"Helena," the Canary hissed under her breath, cutting the other woman's taunts off. The Huntress spared her companion an annoyed look, before pursing her lips and rolling her eyes.

The Canary's gaze stayed on her for a moment longer, before she turned to Thea. "We do know," she said, "about Merlyn's reasons for taking you, and we won't tell anyone who doesn't already know too. What we don't really know is why he left without you."

Thea's heart picked up speed at the reminder of what it had been like, being face-to-face with her dear father. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Why?" she asked again. "Why do you want to know?"

The other woman's eyes narrowed a fraction behind her mask, and Thea thought that her tone might have been a little too telling, betraying her real question.

"We're not going to kill him," the Canary told her quietly. "That's not our purpose with him. But there is..._someone_, who does want him dead." Licking her lips, she added, "Someone he would be afraid of."

Thea frowned. "Who? The Arrow?"

The Canary shook her head.

Helena actually snorted.

"Then who?" Thea prompted.

She didn't get an answer right away, and the Canary looked reluctant to give her a straight one. "There are people," she eventually hedged, "people he was involved with, who taught him how to be...the Dark Archer. And they're not exactly pleased with what he's done."

Thea mulled that over. It made sense, she supposed. That there would be someone who had taught Merlyn how to be what he was – someone who was _better_ than him. Someone who could defeat him.

And it should have felt good, to know that, but any glimmer of satisfaction was squashed when she realized she didn't just want _someone_ to defeat him. _I want to defeat him_, the thought ran through her mind. _He's mine to defeat_.

She shook her head to rid herself of the thought, and said, "So, are the two of you their PI's or something?"

"No," the Canary said quietly, "we need to know if they're already here."

"You're running from them, too," Thea concluded when it clicked. "Who are they?"

"It doesn't matter," the Canary deflected. "It's too dangerous for you to know everything."

Thea huffed. "I am _so_ tired," she let out, "of everyone else deciding what _I_ need protecting from."

"I'm not saying this because I think you need to be protected, Thea," the Canary told her, and somehow, it reminded her of when she was eleven or twelve, trying to slide down the rail of the mansion's staircase, and Sara Lance was chiding her, not for being reckless, but for being so when her parents could easily walk in on her.

"But these people, they're dangerous," the Canary went on, bringing her out of the weird sense of déjà-vu. "To anyone. They're unlike anything you've seen."

Thea pursed her lips. "I've seen a lot."

It seemed to make the other woman soften, and eventually, she nodded. "I know," she said quietly.

And there it was again, Thea thought, that weird sense of familiarity.

"I'd just like to point out," Helena interjected, "that we came here for an _exchange_ of information. So far, this feels pretty one-sided."

Thea took a deep breath, then nodded. "I don't actually know why he just left," she said. "He was saying something about...the Arrow, and fighting and killing him, and – " She shrugged. "He said the Arrow was coming and left me in the room, and then...I don't know how long it was, a while, but next thing I know, it's the Arrow who's coming through the door." She shook her head. "He didn't find Malcolm on his way in."

The Canary was nodding along, and when Thea was done, she asked, "Did he say something to you? Merlyn, I mean. Something that sounded...strange?"

"Well, he's a complete psycho, so..."

"Right," the blonde conceded. "Just...tell me what you remember. It might seem like nothing to you, but it could be important."

"He just – kept talking about how he was my father, and how – " The words were sour on her tongue as she did her best to force them out, without gagging from the sickening feeling in her gut that sifting through the memories caused. "How his mistake with...with Tommy, was not including him in his mission, and that now he'd get a second chance with me, it was – " She blew out a breath. "That's all he talked about."

The other three were quiet for a while after that, and even Helena looked like she didn't have much desire for taunting anymore.

Eventually, she was the one who queried, "What did he say exactly, before leaving you alone?"

The Canary seemed intrigued by the question, while Thea frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Did he say the Arrow was coming soon, that he was already there?" she clarified. "Or that he was going to wait for him?"

"Why, what are you thinking?" her partner asked.

"I'm thinking he knew someone was there," Helena said, "and he thought it was the Arrow, but..." She turned to Thea. "You said it was a while before he showed up, and that Malcolm was already gone when he did." She shrugged, craning her head to the side to meet the Canary's eyes. "I'm thinking he did find someone on his way out, but it wasn't the Arrow."

They were having some sort of silent conversation after that, and Thea waited impatiently to be let it on it. When she wasn't, she prompted, "So? What does that mean?"

The Canary chewed on her lip for a moment longer, before bringing her eyes to Thea's again. "It means they might already have him," she said. "But considering...his skills, it's more likely that whoever they sent is dead and disposed of, and that Merlyn ran before more could come for him."

Thea pulled in a sharp breath. "So, you think he's still alive?"

"Yeah."

It shouldn't have made her feel relieved to hear that, Thea thought. But it did. If he wasn't dead, then –

Then that meant he could _still_ be defeated.

The Canary took a step forward, coming all that closer, and Thea found herself staring at the woman's face. "We will keep looking," she said, "and when we know for sure, I'll have Sin tell you what we found."

Thea nodded quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you," the Canary told her, "for agreeing to this." The black mask she wore was cut out in sharp lines, making its wearer seem dangerous, and just a little deadly, but her eyes held a surprising amount of warmth as they went over Thea's face, and the latter couldn't help but think the look she was getting was strangely – proud, maybe? Or perhaps it leaned more towards wistful?

Either way, it was strange.

"I'll keep in touch," the Canary directed her next words to Sin, before giving them both a nod of farewell. Behind her, Helena did the same, and with that, they were walking away, until they had both blended with the shadows.

Thea watched them go, drawing a deep, cleansing breath.

She felt Sin's hand on her arm. "You good?"

Nodding resolutely, she said, "Yeah."

Sin gave her a small smile, draping a hand over her shoulders. "Come on," she told her as she began steering her back towards the street and the car they'd parked there. Thea let herself be led by her friend, thinking about the other two women, and just how much it felt like she had known the Canary before, and most of all, she thought about how she really, really wanted Malcolm Merlyn to be alive.

* * *

><p>"So, what do you really think?" Helena asked, shrugging off her coat and pulling off her mask. "Is there a dead League of Assassins member somewhere in Starling, or is Ra's al Ghul dancing on Merlyn's grave in – actually, I have no idea where your old clubhouse is."<p>

"Nanda Parbat," Sara replied absentmindedly from her position by the broken clock face.

"Right, good to know," Helena muttered, making her way to Sara's side. "So, what's the verdict, Birdie?"

Her question was met with a deep sigh. "I meant what I told Thea," Sara eventually said. "I do think he's still alive. Malcolm, he was...trained by both Ra's and Al-Owal – 'The First', he was Ra's second-in-command." Pursing her lips, she added, "Al-Owal is dead, so there are only two people left that could take on Malcolm and defeat him – in a fight that meets their code. One of them is Ra's al Ghul, and the other is..."

It seemed difficult for her to say it, so Helena filled in for her; she was getting good at figuring out what tone Sara reserved for each person from her past she spoke of. "His daughter," she said.

"Yeah," Sara agreed. "And if either of them had been here, they wouldn't have come and gone so quietly."

"So, you think a foot soldier or two were sent here, they fought Merlyn, and that was the end of the road for them?"

Sara nodded.

"Shouldn't that be good news?" Helena asked. "Because you don't exactly look happy."

"He still ran," Sara pointed out quietly. "Disappeared without Thea."

"Well, he knew more would be coming for him, right? Dragging Thea kicking and screaming with him would slow him down."

"Mm-hmm," Sara hummed. "But the question is, why would he have to run so fast?"

Helena blew out a breath. "So, you think Ra's, or his daughter, or their entire army, are still headed over here?"

"I think – " She licked her lips. "I think there's a good chance, yeah."

That was a cheery thought. "What now?"

"We should check out the place Thea was held at," Sara said. "See if there's something Oliver or the cops missed."

"Shouldn't be difficult to find something that meets that criteria," Helena commented dryly, getting her partner to crack a small smile.

"And if it turns out that one or all of them really are coming here," she added more quietly, "what then?"

Sara was quiet, pulling in deep breaths in silence. In the end, she shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I don't want to run unless I have to."

Helena had expected nothing less.

* * *

><p>"<em>The hostage crisis at Starling National Bank in the East Glades has just entered its tenth hour<em> – "

Felicity kept her eyes resolutely on the source code of the upgrade she was doing for QC's servers, telling herself that the news anchorwoman's report coming from Diggle's TV was just left there as background noise while she worked. Which was –

" – _the SCPD has yet to successfully negotiate with the robbers, and unconfirmed reports suggest that they have begun killing hostages_ – "

– a complete lie.

With a sigh, Felicity peeked over her laptop, and to the flat screen that alternated between images of the newscaster and live footage from the scene. There were barricades, and a SWAT team on standby, and the red-and-blue swirls of patrol cars and the blasting flashes of an overhead chopper, and every now and then, just on the edge of the frame, Felicity caught a glimpse of Detective Lance.

He hadn't called her.

Actually, she had almost called _him_. Early in the afternoon, when it had all started, Diggle had dropped by to keep her company for lunch at IT, and she had already begun reaching for her phone, only to be stopped in her tracks by John's pointed look. _It's not what we do anymore, Felicity_, he'd said, a little sadly, and she'd retracted her hand with a nod. She'd forgotten, for a second there, that Team Arrow wasn't in business anymore.

The one thing that she was sure would never change, though, was Sara Lance refusing to use doors.

She couldn't help but smile at the ping that came from her second laptop, signaling that the motion sensors on the balcony had been triggered and sending a video feed of the 'intruder'.

Felicity waited for Sara to make her way in, only speaking when she'd already stepped past the balcony's threshold. "Wouldn't it just be easier to use the door?" she asked, craning her head over her shoulder to track Sara's movements.

"Nope," the other woman said, with a silly sort of playful smile Felicity hadn't been treated to before; she grinned in response.

Sara plopped onto the couch next to her, and added, "Besides, you'd be disappointed if I made such a boring entrance."

"True," Felicity agreed, taking a moment to appreciate the way Sara's resulting smile made her dimples show. "So, what's up?"

With a quiet sigh, Sara began plucking at the wig she held in her lap. "Helena and I met with Thea last night," she said quietly. "To talk about Merlyn."

Felicity frowned. "Wha – why?"

"There's only one thing that would make him run the way he did, Felicity." She shook her head. "And it's not Oliver."

Biting her lip, Felicity asked, "You think the League found him?"

"Yeah. But I also think that the one who found him is dead now." She clucked her tongue. "Which means more will be coming."

Felicity really didn't like the implications of that. "So, what does that mean," she asked, "for you?"

"I'm – " She shrugged. "Not as scared as I should be."

"You're not leaving, then?"

"No," Sara said, "not yet anyway." She sighed. "Helena and I went to where he had Thea...we found a gem, Ollie and the cops missed it, it's – it belonged to someone I knew in the League." A small frown creased her brow as she added, "She was finishing her training when I was starting mine. We, uh – we did several missions together, actually, after I had sworn my own oath."

"I'm...sorry?" Felicity tried, not quite knowing if she should be offering condolences or not.

"Don't be," Sara told her. "Part of swearing the oath is being willing to die, being..._ready_ to die."

"That doesn't sound like something you'd accept," Felicity remarked quietly; if anything, Sara struck her as someone who had done, and would do, anything to _stay_ alive.

"Well, I broke _my_ oath, didn't I?" Sara said. "I'm always the rebel, wherever I go."

Felicity cracked a smile at that.

After a short-lived smile of her own, Sara frowned again, dropping her gaze to her lap; Felicity watched her trace the outlines of her mask with her fingers for a while, before asking, "So, if you're okay with the death of your former assassin buddy, then what's bothering you?"

Sara chewed on her lip for a moment, then shrugged. "Seeing Thea," she admitted. "Talking to her. I saw her, when Sin was in the hospital, but it was just – it was just for a minute." She drew a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "The last time I _really_ saw her, she was still little twelve-year-old Speedy, running around after Ollie. And now, she's all grown up." When she looked up, Felicity saw that her eyes were shining with gathering tears. "It really hit me, seeing her, just how long I've been away from home."

Felicity reached out, covering Sara's hand with hers; her nose twitched in a sniffle Felicity barely heard, and eventually, she squeezed back.

"You're home _now_," Felicity whispered, but Sara shook her head.

"No, I'm not," she said. "Only my dad knows I'm even alive, I'm...lurking in the shadows, wondering when I'll have to run again. I'm not really home."

Feeling a few tears prickling at her own eyes, Felicity twined their fingers together. There wasn't much she could say, or do, to make this better, but Sara seemed to appreciate the gesture nevertheless. One corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile as she kept her eyes on their hands, and lightly began tapping each of Felicity's brightly-painted nails with the pad of her thumb. Felicity surmised it was the striking yellow shade of nail polish she had chosen that made Sara's smile widen, showing her dimples again, and crinkling the corners of her eyes. The last time she'd had that look, Felicity thought, was when she called her cute.

She wasn't talking now, though – not to call her cute again, or to elaborate on the Merlyn situation, or even to ask for a favor or something. She was just quiet, amusing herself with Felicity's fingers, and the latter realized that she probably hadn't had much of a _reason_ to drop by. She had to admit, she was fond of the idea that Sara was only there for the pleasure of her company.

"_It has now been confirmed that one of the hostages was shot to death in the attempted bank robbery in the East Glades_ – "

Felicity whipped her head towards the TV, her breath catching in her throat.

Beside her, Sara stiffened, having obviously gone on alert. She still kept quiet, though, as Felicity drank in the images on the screen and felt her eyes filling with a different kind of tears.

"If Oliver hadn't left," Felicity found herself saying, "this would have been over by now." She shook her head. "Sometimes I forget that he wasn't always here, you know? That the city went by without us saving the day."

And it was killing her, to just sit by and watch.

She felt the pressure of Sara's hand on her own. "What I told you before, about me and Helena being around," she said, "that's still true."

Slowly, Felicity brought her eyes to Sara's.

It was still a completely crazy idea.

But people were dying.

And even before she was done playing mental catch-up with the idea of working with the Huntress, her mind was already sifting through the possible courses of action, the best and worse case scenarios, the optimal ways to avoid collateral damage, what databases she would need to access for the blueprints and which of the city's grids she'd have to hack in order to play the eye in the sky.

Digg wasn't going to like this.

But in the end, she was nodding her agreement.


	15. II The Coveted - Ch 7

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter Seven_

"You really need to start asking me before offering my services to everyone."

Helena Bertinelli's annoyed voice reached her ears even before her eyes could make out her silhouette against the dim lighting of Verdant's back alley, and Felicity's stiff back tensed further where she stood next to Sara – whose willingness to make offers in both their names her new partner didn't seem to appreciate.

"A text telling me to come here doesn't really cut it," The Huntress added once she was out of the shadows, her eyes cutting over Felicity; the latter clutched her bag tighter.

There was a beat, where Sara spared Helena a look that appeared to carry some unspoken meaning, before she said, "We don't have much time. They've already begun killing people."

Helena pursed her lips. "So, tell me," she prompted dryly, "what _exactly_ can I do for Starling City tonight?"

She didn't get her answer right away, and Felicity belatedly realized Sara had turned to her, expecting _her_ to take over. And the words just got stuck in her throat.

She had done this a thousand times over, run point on missions, but her footing wasn't even anymore; she could cling to Sara for familiarity but Helena was the break in the pattern, the unknown variable, and Felicity fumbled, because this wasn't her team; these weren't John and Oliver, flanking her sides and falling in step with her as she talked about points of entry and contingency plans.

"Felicity?" Sara called to her, still waiting.

_Just imagine they're Digg and Oliver_, she told herself. _Imagine it's the same as it used to be_.

She closed her eyes, counted to three; John would stand right where Helena was, serious but expectant, waiting for her to run the situation by him so his strategist's mind could filter through it, and Oliver would probably be out of sight by now, reaching for the leather and the bow. _Talk to me, Felicity_.

"There are five of them," she spoke, blinking her eyes open, "from what I could see. They cut the camera feeds going in, but they weren't fast enough on one of them. There's five robbers, ten hostages – " She gulped, amending it to, "Well, nine now, including the bank's employees."

Helena's face was impassive, her eyes going to Sara for a moment. Eventually, she clucked her tongue. "So...what's the plan?"

It was unnerving, Felicity thought. _She_ was unnerving.

She motioned for the two women to follow her, to the foundry's secondary entrance, and felt the pain in her still-healing wrist flare up. A year or so ago, it was Helena who had bound her wrists together, made them ache afterward; this time around, she had been the one to break the cuffs on her hand, and now, she was going to help her get nine strangers out of their own binds. And all of that, Felicity was pretty sure, was because of Sara.

She punched in the code, pulling the metal door open when the system beeped, and fumbled again when she was met with complete darkness. Even after they had clocked out for the night, there used to always be some light in the basement, be it the dim glow of her computers or the few energy-saving overhead lights they left on, even after they had shut down the ones in the main area; it was all dark now, though.

She'd forgotten about that.

Clearing her throat, she fished for her phone, all the while aware of the two leather-clad women at her back; she was fairly confident they were having some sort of silent conversation with their eyes again behind her.

She had her phone in hand and the flash on eventually, letting it provide the light they'd need to get to the main switch.

It was so quiet. Even her flats echoed against the floor in the silence.

Felicity sped up her steps, just to get to the switch faster, just to chase away the cold feeling in her chest at seeing her home as empty and as eerie as a ghost house.

She pushed the lever up, breathing in deeply when the lights blinked and flickered, before they were finally shining through the space; it made her feel warmer, safer, and she nearly skipped over to her computers, turning them on.

This was her home.

And as soon as she was in her chair, the words were just pouring out. "I uploaded everything I dug up before on a cloud, so we'll have it here in a minute, and now I can get heat signature readings and get into the PD's scanner to see what they're doing, and I'm pulling up the live feed from the scene right now – "

The trusty keyboard under her fingers felt so lovely she only barely refrained from taking a moment to just hug it to her chest, but that would mean she would have to pause in her keystrokes which was just not happening any time soon. Her monitors were filling with all the data she was pulling up; a few clicks and one was showing the news reports, the second an infrared streaming of her go-to NSA satellite alongside real-time transcripts of the police scanner – a nifty upgrade of her own design – and the third was displaying schematics.

She knew she was grinning when she whirled her chair around, and for a moment, just one, it was Diggle and Oliver who stood under the fluorescent lights, all serious frowns broken by proud smiles; she blinked, and it was two pairs of blue eyes behind black masks staring back at her.

"You okay?" Sara asked softly.

"Um, yeah." She cleared her throat. "So – " she spun back to her screens – "the heat signatures show there are three additional robbers, one on each point of entry. The hostages are all here – " she pointed to the stationary red-and-yellow blurbs – "and there are still nine of them, so that's good. This one here," she added more quietly, gesturing to the completely unmoving, fading signature, "is the one they killed."

"What sort of weapons do they have?" Sara prompted.

"Based on what the PD reported, they've got some major firepower. Military riffles, definitely black market stuff and – excuse me, what are you doing?"

She turned to Helena sharply, where the other woman was apparently perusing Diggle's gun collection at her leisure.

"Actually, I was looking for the ammo." Helena turned her back to her, lifting her coat away to show her the two holstered guns that rested neatly at her lower back, and grinned over her shoulder. "But," she added, letting the black leather fall back into place, "this is quite the collection you have here." She moved along the shelves, letting her gloved fingers skim the casings, until one particular label seemed to have caught her eye. "A rocket launcher?" she threw over her shoulder. "Really?"

Felicity gritted her teeth. "Don't touch that."

Helena's crooked grin slipped, eyes narrowing behind the mask. She raised her hands up and away next, as if to say she was complying with her orders.

"Anything about that SWAT team moving in?" she inquired dryly, trekking back to the computers. "I wouldn't want them to get in our way."

Pulling in a deep breath, Felicity turned to her second monitor. "They're still on standby," she said. "Mostly because they have no way of going in without being seen – downsides of pretty glass walls, I guess. The robbers have a lookout at all three entry points besides the main door," she reiterated, flicking her good wrist to gesture towards the blurbs of the men in question, "so they'd see a SWAT team coming from a mile away. And they've already made it clear that they mean business, so the PD doesn't want to risk it. They're still trying negotiations."

"I don't think it's working," Helena remarked.

"So, how do _we_ get in?" it was Sara who asked, and Felicity was grateful she had joined the conversation again; as long as she focused on Sara, she could feel more like she was back where she belonged, and less like she was scraping together a poor imitation of her old team.

"The vents," she informed, bringing up the schematics for the location on full screen. "The ventilation shafts go all the way up to the roof, which is _your_ point of entry." She shrugged. "I figured you'd manage the acrobatics."

Sara smiled at that. "Good," she said. "So, we take out the outliers, then move on to the other five?"

"That's the plan," Felicity agreed. "_But_," she stressed, "no killing them."

Sara's smile slipped at that clause, her eyes dropping down and away, but in the end, she was nodding her compliance.

Her partner, on the other hand, didn't seem eager to play ball.

"No killing them?" Helena echoed. "Why? _They_ didn't have any problems with killing hostages."

Felicity whirled back on her. "We're not them."

Helena's eyes narrowed. "_We_?" she practically spat back. "I'm not part of your little clubhouse, and the only reason I'm here is because Oliver abandoned you and you need someone to play hero."

She definitely knew how to choose her words, Felicity thought. To make sure they hurt.

"No actually, I'm not sure _why_ I'm here," Helena amended. "Why didn't you just call Diggle and leave me out of this?"

Felicity wanted to fire back, to put all of her heart into a comeback, but all that came out instead was a mumbled, "Digg's working."

"Helena," Sara issued a quiet warning, making her partner's eyes cut over to her. "We can take them on without killing them," she said, like it was final.

That didn't sit well with Helena, evidently, because her lip curled at the corner; she schooled her expression the next moment, leaving her features suitably blank. "Fine," she agreed flatly. "Anything else before we go?"

Felicity turned to her desk, grabbing for the box that held the earpieces while keeping her head down, because there were tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She grabbed the devices, handing two for Sara to take; she reached out to take them but held on to Felicity's hand for a moment. "Are you gonna be okay?" she asked quietly. "With your hand?"

Nodding quickly, Felicity said, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay." Sara looked like she might want to say something else, something comforting, but Felicity shook her head and motioned for her to go. With a light squeeze of her hand, she did, moving away to hand Helena her own piece. Felicity watched their retreating backs, letting her eyes linger even after the door had slammed back shut behind them.

She was home again, but it was all wrong. The hum of her computers and the static in her earpiece were there, drumming with familiarity, but John's untraceable Glock 17 he took out in the field was still tucked away on the shelf, and Oliver's green leather and the bow she'd had made for him still sat in their glass cases, untouched.

Her home was a ghost house anyway.

* * *

><p>"We're here," Sara spoke into her comm. "Going in."<p>

Helena gestured towards the open hatch with all the flourish she could muster. "After you."

The ride to Starling National Bank had been relatively short, what with Sara spurring the bike down the emptier roads and disregarding speed limits, though they'd had to cover the last block on foot, to avoid being noticed by the swarm of cops at the front. The overhead chopper was another impediment; scaling the building up to the roof and infiltrating the ventilation system without being noticed was a little tricky when helicopter lights were blaring over your head.

Sara spared her a glance before lowering herself into the square space, a low thump signaling her feet had hit the metal below. Helena waited a moment before following suit; flattening herself against the cold ducts took a moment, especially as she had to adjust the placement of her crossbow before rolling over on her stomach. She got herself in position, facing away from Sara's direction, blowing stray stands of hair out of her face as she asked, "Where to now?"

"_Two of the entrances are on the east side, so Sara, you'll want to crawl right ahead then take two lefts_," Felicity's voice sounded in her ear, slightly distorted, "_and Helena, you're taking the south entrance so take your first right, and then the second left after that._"

"Copy that," Helena muttered, using her elbows to prop herself forward in the cramped space.

"_I'm monitoring the feeds_," Felicity spoke again, "_and your bad guys are right where they should be. After you take down your two, Sara, you'll be coming into the main lobby from the left. Helena, you'll be coming from the right._"

Well, bright and peppy Felicity Smoak certainly knew how to play the hell out of the eye in the sky.

Helena followed the path she was given, maneuvering herself around the right corner then crawling past the first left shaft, stopping at the second; the duct stood at an angle, leading down to a sealed grate. Beyond it, Helena presumed, was her prey.

"I'm here," she informed, rolling around until she had pushed her lower body into the shaft legs-first and plastered her hands against the juncture between the ducts, keeping herself from slipping downward just long enough to add, "Going in."

She let go, sliding down until her boots had hit the grate, propelling it through the air as her body followed; she landed in a half-crouch, hand braced against the ground, and right there, just a few steps away, was her target.

She grinned up at him. "Hi."

He was quick to recover from his surprise, turning his rifle on her; he hadn't even secured the strap across his chest, which just made her job so much easier. She sprung forward, pushing the weapon out of his hands with a kick of her foot, and aiming a fist at his face in the same movement; he blocked her punch.

There was more to his strikes than just crude, brutish strength, and Helena surmised he'd had training – military, by the looks of it – prior to pursuing a career in bank heisting. He deflected her blows, tried a swing at her head which she ducked, and a roundhouse kick which she sidestepped; she tried to find an opening, for a sharp jab to the throat, but her blocked all her attempts. It was starting to annoy her.

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it around his fist tightly enough that she growled, and tried to push her face into the nearest wall; she brought her legs up, bracing her feet against the toneless wallpaper, using the shift in momentum to headbutt him from behind, smashing the back of her head against his face. His hands fell away and while he still reeled back, she swept at his shins, kicked his legs from under him, then grabbed his throat as he fell, going down with him until he hit the hard ground with a thud and a crack. She replaced her hand with her forearm, pushing down on his windpipe, just as she jabbed a knee into his gut.

"Don't pull a girl's hair," she told him. "We don't like it."

He gurgled something back, his hands coming up to paw at her but lacking the leverage to do any damage, and she kept her position even as his face reddened, hovering over him.

"_Don't kill him!_"

It was practically a shriek in her ear, and she gritted her teeth; bright and peppy Felicity Smoak was also annoying.

She didn't lessen the pressure though, even when Felicity repeated herself, watching the red on the man's face slowly turn blue.

Then, it was Sara's voice in her ear.

"_Helena_."

Just one word. Just saying her name. She did that a lot.

And it was amazing how much she managed to convey. Helena had never thought anyone would be capable of fitting '_let's pretend we didn't kill a hundred men between us and give Saint Felicity what she wants_' just within the three syllables of her name.

Well.

Never let it be said she wasn't a good partner.

"Fine," she said, and punched the man to knock him out.

* * *

><p>"<em>Second one down, moving to the lobby<em>."

_About time_, Helena thought, reaching behind for her guns. She'd been in position, lurking behind a corner, for a solid five minutes, just twiddling her thumbs.

"_I'm here_," Sara spoke again, quieter this time. "_I've got eyes on them_."

"_Okay, so take them out quickly – preferably before they open fire_," Felicity told them. After a beat, she added, "_And no kill-shots_."

That, Helena assumed, was for her benefit. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Don't worry, I'll go for the shoulder."

She peeked from around the corner, assessing the robbers' position; the nine hostages were huddled in a group on the ground, with three of the perps circling them, while the other two men stood in positions that offered them a clear view of the entire lobby, stationed at opposite ends. _Definitely former military_.

She could get clear shots on four of them, in a matter of seconds, but the fifth one would call for a shift in her position to take aim – which would give him time to pull on his own trigger, even with the distraction they had planned. So, he was all Sara's.

"The one behind the counter is for you, little bird," she said. "I've got the rest."

She knew Sara was rolling her eyes at the name, even as she muttered an affirmative, "_Copy that_."

And now for a little bird song.

Helena braced herself for it, even though she'd had its tune in her ears a dozen times over. A second later, they were ringing with the high-pitch again, and the sound of raining, breaking glass – and some howls of pain, too.

She moved from her hiding place, guns at the ready and taking her aim, fingers on the triggers.

One, two – three and four over the hostages' head, and –

The fifth one fell down, too, with what looked to Helena like a broken arm.

She kept her weapons up for a moment, taking in the place; it was oddly quiet now, without the noise and gunshots, while some of the robbers writhed on the ground and a few of the hostages whimpered. Helena looked them over, noting they appeared to be more frightened than injured – which could not also be said of the tenth hostage, of course, where he was sprawled lifelessly a little ways down from the rest of the group.

The bullet wound in his forehead told her his death had been quick and probably painless. Not that there were any good ways to die; some people just didn't get the courtesy of being spared from it – didn't deserve it either, sometimes. Helena couldn't say if the dead man had belonged to the former or the latter.

She looked over to Sara, whose eyes were scanning the space as well, in a similar assessment; Helena didn't know if her thoughts lingered more on the living or on the dead, as her own had.

There was no mistaking what Felicity's thoughts were on, though.

"_Are the hostages okay?_" her question echoed in both their earpieces.

"Yeah," Sara confirmed.

There was a little sound, like a sigh of relief, from Felicity before she said, "_Okay, good. Also, you may want to get out of there. The PD are coming in_."

Helena's eyes cut over to the front of the lobby, and the doors beyond it, which were now reflecting the bouncing spots of flashlights, while the absence of the glass barriers only made the sound of the SWAT team's thudding footsteps and shouted commands louder.

She turned to Sara again, nodding towards the blown-off glass panels to their right; holstering her guns again, she moved for Sara, grabbing her hand as she went, and kept running until they had both jumped through the hole in the wall and onto the street; it was an alleyway between the bank and the building next door, somewhat hidden from the main street and the PD's set-up command center.

Sara still paused, and Helena knew she was looking for her father even before the man in question spotted them, pausing in his progress towards the front doors; he didn't say anything but his eyes widened then narrowed, as soon as he saw them – saw _her_.

Not that she had expected different.

She reached for Sara's hand again, pulling her down the alley. She went willingly, only turning her eyes away from the street when she could no longer catch glimpse of her father.

"Felicity," she spoke into her comm a few moments later, "call my father, please. Tell him where he can find us."

_Well_, Helena thought as they made their way back to Sara's bike, with Felicity's assurances that she would get right on that call. _This is going to be an interesting conversation_.


	16. II The Coveted - Ch 8

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter Eight_

Sara paced a short line next to her bike, against which Helena was leaning, as they waited for her father. Felicity had gotten a hold of him, while his fellow officers were still rounding up the robbers left for them, and related that he'd said to be there shortly.

In truth, Sara was approaching something that felt distinctly like nervousness – not unlike the kind she'd felt a lifetime ago, when introducing her few boyfriends to her father, knowing he wouldn't approve.

Not unlike what she used to feel back then either, was the familiar, defiant desire to also defend her choices to her father. _Always the rebel_.

Helena didn't say much, just waited with her arms banded across her chest, and Sara knew she hadn't particularly enjoyed tonight's developments; she would probably enjoy them even less in a few minutes.

Or seconds.

Sara turned to the sound of approaching steps; her father was coming their way, still in his officer's uniform, and the first words out of his mouth were, "_She's_ the one who came here with you?"

"Dad – "

"Hello, Detective," Helena piped in, drumming her fingers through the air in a small wave. "Oh, wait," she added, "it's just 'Officer' now, isn't it?"

Sara closed her eyes, pulling in a deep breath; when she opened them, it was to the image of her father clenching his jaw, before he turned his sour expression on her. "You're friends with _her_?"

"Yes, Dad, look – "

"D'you even know who she is? What she's done?"

"Better than you do," Helena commented dryly.

"Oh yeah?" her father challenged. "'Cause I heard Frank Bertinelli's dead. Did you tell her about how you murdered your old man?"

Sara hung her head. She counted her breaths – _one, two, three_ – before she looked to Helena, whose own eyes were firmly on her, as she knew they would be; slowly, she shook her head.

Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, the slight thinning of Helena's mouth and the way her eyes flashed with hurt; Sara did, though.

Still, Helena played along. "I don't ask about where she got all the black leather, and she doesn't ask about my father."

As far as lies went, Sara thought, it was a pretty big one on all counts.

Her father let out a small scoff, rolling his eyes. Before he could think of another unflattering comment, Sara asked, "So, how's everything at the bank?"

The complete change in directory earned her a long, scrutinizing look, but eventually, her father was sighing, as he said, "We rounded up all the perps, you made that pretty easy for us. The hostages are pretty shaken up, but...they're okay otherwise." He pursed his lips there, then added, "I take it you worked with Ms. Smoak on this one?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah," she said with a slight smile. "She's really good at this sort of thing."

"Ah well, she's had a lot of practice. Speaking of that" – he spared Helena a sidelong glance – "you _officially_ filling the Arrow's shoes now? 'Cause we really could use more of your help around here, baby."

She wanted to. To stay, to work with Felicity, to have a team of her own; she just wasn't sure Helena shared even a fraction of her enthusiasm. She liked justice, Sara knew that. Just not the kind that came with playing by other people's rules.

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

Felicity spun her chair around, a grin on her face as she commented, "Well, would you look at that – you actually used the door to get in."

Sara returned the smile, though hers was more on the half-hearted side. "You don't have any windows around here," she said. "Kinda forced my hand in the matter."

"Sorry to cramp on your style," Felicity offered her apologies, opening her palm so Sara could drop the two earpieces she held into her hand. As she turned back to stash them back in their box, she asked, "So, where's Helena?"

Sara blew out a deep, long breath. "She, uh...walked home, so to speak. Didn't really want to be around me for a while," she said, shrugging. "So I came here to return both of those" – she gestured towards the open box – "and give her a little time to herself."

Felicity frowned. "That sounds like you had a fight."

"Not in so many words," Sara muttered. "I just...haven't been the best partner tonight."

"Why? Because you told her not to kill people?"

Sara shook her head. "It's not what I told her, so much as how I did it – and why," she said. "And, Felicity, the killing, it's – " She sighed. "She's not Oliver, or Diggle – and neither am I. We're not like your old team."

"I know that."

The words earned her a long, studying look, and she were being honest, it was making her squirm a little. Finally, Sara simply asked, "Do you?"

Felicity looked away. "I did get a little...carried away, for a moment there," she admitted quietly. "It's just – " She shrugged. "I've missed it, you know? My team."

Sara nodded, and Felicity knew she understood. "And it's the only team I've ever had," she added, "so I guess I kinda...wanted to have it back." But that wasn't happening. Not anytime soon. "She wasn't wrong, though – Helena, I mean," she whispered, the tip of her finger tracing along the lid of the little blue box that held the earpieces she had customized herself – for her team. "When she said she was only here because Oliver abandoned us. Because he did." She blew out a breath. "And I know it's not because he doesn't care, or – actually, it's probably because he cares _too_ much, so getting as far away from us as he can makes sense in his head."

"Ollie's problem was never that he didn't love people," Sara said. "It's that he doesn't really know what to do with it."

"Yeah," Felicity agreed. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is," she reiterated, "Helena's not my favorite person, but she did make that one good point. And, I'm not too proud to admit that she's not terrible at...you know, 'playing hero' – nearly choking bad guys to death aside. I mean, we did end up saving the day – or night, as it were."

That did make Sara smile just the tiniest bit. "Yeah, we did," she said softly. "Well, I'm...gonna go. Talk to Helena. Do you need a ride to Digg's?"

Felicity shook her head. "Nah. And not just because the ride over here was like, the fifteen most terrifying minutes of my life – note to self: bikes aren't my thing."

"Okay," Sara said, smiling a little wider. "See you around, then. Goodnight."

"Night."

Felicity watched her go, spinning her chair around a few times in the ensuing silence; she took it all in one more time, eyes lingering on a different detail on each spin. The salmon ladder, the paper targets in the corner, the neatly labeled firepower on the shelves, the paper targets in the other corner, the servers, the hood, the training dummies, the monitors, the green-tipped arrows; the compound bow.

She wanted a moment longer down here, just to herself. To say goodbye.

* * *

><p>When Sara dropped onto the floor of the Clocktower, it was to the sight of Helena in her workout gear, pounding furiously at the boxing bag they'd snatched from a sporting goods store.<p>

She knew her entrance had been noted, though Helena made no move to acknowledge it, so Sara took a moment to take off her mask and wig, and think of the words she wanted to say. In the end, all that she managed was, "I'm sorry."

There was a beat before Helena paused in her punches and whirled around, a little red in the face; Sara couldn't tell how much of it was from exertion, and how much of it was from anger.

"Sorry? For what?" Helena demanded. "Being ashamed of me?"

"I'm not," Sara told her, blowing out a breath. "Helena, I'm not ashamed of you."

"Really? Because tonight, I got to be the crazy psycho killer while you washed your hands clean just so you could keep on being Felicity Smoak's number one girlfriend, and" – she let out a dry chuckle " – that whole 'no killing' thing is just so great, considering how Oliver did things when she first joined him, but that's not even the best part – no, the best part was me spinning some lie to your father just so you wouldn't have to admit that you helped me kill mine!"

"Helena, I – "

"Why do you even keep me around? Because you told me," she raised her voice, "before we came here, you told me that you wouldn't leave me to the wolves, and right now, it feels like that's exactly what you're doing!"

Sometimes, Sara thought, there was an odd sort of innocence to the way that Helena's heart was built; it was black-and-white, love-and-hate, and a lost look in her eyes that belonged more on a little girl than the woman they called The Huntress.

She reminded her of someone else in that way. Someone else she'd left behind and betrayed.

"I don't have a very good track record," Sara eventually said, quietly, "when it comes to hurting and betraying those I care for."

Helena sniffed. "Yeah, well, I don't have a good track record when it comes to _getting_ betrayed by those I care for."

She turned away after that, expelling a ragged breath as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Sara looked away, to the big glass clock face and the city lights that flickered beyond it.

"My father saw me kill someone, last time I was here," she found herself saying. "I told you Al-Owal was dead before, and the thing is, I'm the one who killed him – right here, actually. My father was here, and...he saw me break his neck. And I was" – she shook her head " – so ashamed, I couldn't even look at him. But then he, uh – he told me that it didn't matter, because I'd become a killer to survive and that was all that mattered to him, that I was still alive." She could feel the sting of tears creeping at the corners of her eyes, and gritted her teeth against it. "And it's – it's the truth, I became a killer to stay alive, but it's not...as simple as that. So, what I helped you do, find your father so you could kill him, that's not something my dad would – " She gulped. "I don't think he'd understand that. I couldn't have him know about it. And I'm sorry that I threw you under the bus to keep it from him."

She drew a deep breath before blinking her tears away and turning her eyes away from the clock face; Helena was watching her over her shoulder, kneading her arms with her hands while chewing on her lip. Eventually, she prompted, "And Felicity?"

"Felicity," Sara let out on a chuckle, shaking her head a little. "I like her," she said. "I like the way she thinks. I like working with her."

"And you don't want to shut the door on the Dream Team that's never going to happen," Helena guessed, not a little bitterly.

She wasn't wrong. "I wouldn't say that," Sara hedged. "I think you're growing on her."

Helena huffed. "Well, it's not mutual."

"Really?" Sara challenged. "You weren't even a little bit impressed by how she ran the mission tonight?"

The only answer she got was a glare on Helena's part.

Sara cracked a small smile, but reined in on it as she added, "Whether that comes to something or not, I came here with you." She took a few cautious steps forward, until she could lightly rest her hand on Helena's arm. "And I'm sorry about tonight. But I'm not ashamed of you. You're my partner."

Helena turned, letting Sara's hand fall down over her crossed arms as she faced her; her eyes were big and blue and sad, and her mouth was set in what Sara thought might be a little pout.

"I can't be hurt again," she said.

Sara nodded. "I know."

"You're the first person I...starting trusting, in a long time," Helena went on. "After Oliver. He was the last person I trusted and that...didn't end well. So I can't have that happen again, I just – I can't."

"Okay," Sara said softly, debating for a moment before she brought her other hand up and began to pull Helena in for a tentative hug. She was almost surprised that Helena went willingly, wrapping her arms around her.

Sara smoothed one hand over the back of Helena's head, and held on tight.

* * *

><p>This, Felicity thought, was exactly what she'd expected to find when she finally made it back to the apartment: Diggle seated on the couch, with a beer in his hand and a very judgmental look on his face.<p>

"So," he clucked his tongue, "I take it that was you?"

Felicity bit her lip. "Well," she said, making her way over to the couch and plopping down on it, "one third of it was me."

John looked her up and down, then took a swig of his beer. "People are speculating about The Huntress being back in town left and right," he commented. "Some of the hostages recognized her, apparently."

Felicity only nodded; she'd known as much.

"Meanwhile, I was just surprised that no one was getting wheeled out in a body bag with an arrow sticking out of them."

"Well, one of the bad guys came close," Felicity admitted. "But you know, other than that, it wasn't all that bad."

Diggle's response was a very wry look.

"Like yeah, sure, she's really, really mean," Felicity went on, "but it...could've been worse."

"Yes, let's just be happy that it didn't go as badly as it could have," Diggle deadpanned.

She scrunched her nose. "I knew you wouldn't be happy about this."

"Felicity." He sighed. "This isn't about how I feel about it, it's about what we talked about – you know, you just wanting to get back to what we used to do without thinking it through?"

"Yeah, I know," she whispered. "And I did have a moment there, where I sort of cast her and Sara as you and Oliver, but – "

"Wait, _I_ was Helena in this scenario?"

"Not the point, Digg," she said.

He grumbled about it a little, then asked, "So, what is the point?"

"The point is," she reiterated, "I kind of tried to make it the same, you know? Like it was _our_ team getting back together." She shrugged. "But that's not happening. Our team bit the dust."

"Yeah," John agreed quietly.

"And that's what it is," she went on, "but the three of us still did a decent job. And I liked being back in the proverbial saddle either way. It was good – I mean, Helena kinda hates me, and I kinda hate her, but other than that, it was good."

"So, you gonna push for this?" he prompted. "Starling's new crime-fighting team?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe? I mean, Sara and Helena, they're already a team – and I know that because they do that thing where they have long conversations with their eyes, and excelling at silent communication is the number one indicator of team-ness." She dropped her eyes to her hands, where she'd curled them in her lap. "Like it was for the three of us."

A moment later, Diggle covered her hands with his own. "I miss it, too, Felicity."

She knew he did. He'd locked up the foundry and hadn't been back since, and he went completely still whenever the news reported a hold-up, or a serial killing, or a rise in drug activity, like he was locking himself in place so he wouldn't rush out to save the day. Because they didn't do that anymore.

He was quitting cold turkey.

And she couldn't bring herself to do the same.

"Yeah," she said. "And you know, I can't just…kick back and not do it anymore, because it was my _thing_, it was – being down in that dingy, dank basement was my thing." She shrugged. "So maybe, now that Sara and Helena seem to be sticking around, I'll get to butt in on _their_ thing. When they need tech-support."

"You'd never be just tech-support, Felicity," John told her warmly. He waited a beat, then added, "But I guess there's no place for me on that hypothetical team."

"Digg..."

"No, it's okay," he assured her. "I wouldn't want it even if it were on the table. You've got your new thing that you're looking into, and I should...start looking into mine." He clucked his tongue. "Gotta move forward."

"Bodyguard duty not doing it for you anymore?"

"It never did, you know that," he said, smiling when she nodded. "Doing what we did with Oliver, it felt like the first really good thing I did since coming home. And now that it's gone, well...I need to find something else. Can't ever be just a good ol' civilian again." He gave her a knowing look, adding, "Neither of us can."

"So...anything in particular you've been considering?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'll give Lyla a call...see if A.R.G.U.S. is hiring former soldiers who used to moonlight for a vigilante."

Felicity pursed her lips. "Isn't A.R.G.U.S. kinda shady, though?"

"Well, we operated in the gray, too, didn't we?" he countered, to which she had to concede. "But we'll see," he added, then bumped her shoulder. "I'll always be around if you need me, though."

She grinned, snuggling against him in response; she'd always be there if he called, too, and he knew that. John Diggle was her bestie until the end of time.

They sat in silence, with her head on his shoulder, until he asked, "So, how's your wrist after tonight?"

She dropped her eyes to the wrist in question, rotating in on instinct and cringing as she did so. John shook his head at her. "I'll get you something for that."

There was no point in arguing with him so she didn't protest when he got up, letting her head roll against the back of the couch.

This was bound to happen sooner or later, she thought. They'd both been suspended in motion after the train wreck that was Oliver leaving, and now, they were finally moving again – and there was no going _back_, not for them.

She wasn't sure if moving forward really would include a new team; the idea was still tempting, and it didn't sound half-as-bad as it used to – especially if she considered tonight's mission as a trial run. There'd been a bump – or a choke, as it were – but she did have to admit that the road to her old team had been paved with many a bump, too; she could adapt. Provided that she was offered a membership card approved by _both_ founding parties, of course.

She'd spent nearly an hour in the foundry earlier, spin-spin-spinning in her chair, and letting go of her old home. And by the end of it, moving on seemed just a little bit easier.

And the bottom line was, Team Arrow was gone. That clubhouse wasn't rising from the ashes again. But maybe there could be another one popping up in its stead. Team 'Little Bird, Trigger-Happy Ex-Mob Princess and Never-Just-Tech-Support Hacker'.

Or something.

* * *

><p><strong>Next Installment<strong>: _The City Down Below_


	17. III The City Down Below - Ch 1

**_To Be a Bird of Prey_**

**_Origins_**

**_III. The City Down Below_**

_Chapter One_

**_Queen Consolidated Headquarters_**

**_One Month Ago_**

It wasn't the pain in her shoulders, from her wrists being bound too tight, that made her angry. Or the throbbing of her knees where they dug into the hard, cold floor. It wasn't even being forced to the ground next to Felicity Smoak by Slade Wilson.

It was the story he told.

Five years, and all she had were questions. And when he came back, he gave her lies instead of answers. _She died when the Gambit went down_, he said, over and over, and now he was here, telling Slade Wilson to lower his swords, to let them go, to just take him instead, because Sara Lance getting to live while a woman named Shado got a bullet to the head? That was his fault. It was his fault that she got to breathe another breath in Purgatory when Shado didn't. Funny. Because she'd spent six years thinking her sister had drowned long before that.

They'd stolen her life from her. They went behind her back and then they died, and she was left behind with lies cutting up new wounds each waking moment, a grief she didn't know how to process and a heart she didn't know how to put back together, left behind to watch her mother leave and what was left of her family fall apart. And now, she had to hear about more of their lies, of their mistakes, had to feel all of her wounds reopen while she waited for her life to get taken away one last time, by the stroke of a sword, along with that of an innocent woman who'd had no part in any of their secrets. Much like the unfortunate Shado, Laurel supposed. She, on the other hand, was the other Lance sister. Forced on her knees to die, so her sister could steal her life away one last time.

Because that was all she and Felicity were, really. Puppets dangled on their strings, to play act one last time in a men's story that demanded an encore.

It made her _angry_.

God, she was so angry.

So much so that her hands balled into fists and shook behind her back, that there were tears burning her eyes, burning right down her cheeks when they spilled over, that it was getting hard to breathe because she was _just so_ _angry_.

She was going to die, because her sister ran off her with her boyfriend, because they lied, because they cheated, because they crossed the wrong people, she was going to die for that. Laurel Lance, screwed over one last time by her lying boyfriend and her dead sister.

The anger cut right down to her bones, spreading through every part of her, making her teeth rattle, rising up in her throat; she was so angry she could _scream_.

So she did.

She opened her mouth, and screamed off the top of her lungs.

It was loud, ringing in her ears, but she didn't hear her voice so much as she _felt_ it. She felt it vibrate, pulsing around her, through her, in her throat.

And it felt _long_. Like it could last forever if she let it.

When she stopped and opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was all the glass. All around her, all around all four them; broken glass littering the ground wherever she looked.

For that one moment, everything was quiet.

And then Oliver moved.

He charged at Slade Wilson, knocking him to the side. They stumbled, slid across the floor, and right out one of the shattered windows.

Laurel caught her breath, eyes frozen on the spot they'd disappeared from, before she turned them to Felicity. She was lying on her side, looking out of it, just barely conscious.

Feeling behind her, Laurel wrapped her fingers around a stray shard of glass, turning it over, moving it up and down, to cut through her binds. It must have been sharp because they gave way quickly, even though she'd felt the sting of the glass grazing her own hands in the process, and she threw them away, scrambling over to Felicity.

"Felicity?" she called out to her, shaking her shoulder. "Felicity, can you hear me?"

What she got in response was a faint groan, and an intelligible mumble, but there were still no major injuries on her body that she could see. She worked on freeing her of her own binds next, careful not to cut her, rubbing her hands and arms up and down to get her blood flowing again when she was done.

She jumped to her feet when there was suddenly noise behind her, whirling around to see a hand grasp at the window ledge; Oliver's hand.

Even as she ran over to help him up, the thought ran through her mind. _Let him fall._

She helped him pull himself back up and fall back inside. He got up, looking down at his bloodied hands, before his eyes went up to her.

His mouth moved but he said nothing, like he couldn't find the words; not that there were any she'd accept.

"You should check on Felicity," she saved him from having to scramble for more apologies, or more lies, and his head whipped to the side the moment she spoke.

All the glass crunched under his feet as he made his way over to Felicity; he crouched next to her, taking her face in his hands, probably leaving bloody marks on it, and talking to her quietly, too low to hear.

Laurel looked away from them, turning back to the window instead. She stuck her head out, looking all the way down to the pavement below.

There was no sign of Slade Wilson anywhere.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Starling City, California<em>**

**_Present Day_**

"_In an unexpected turn of events, this evening's hostage crisis at Starling National Bank ended with no further casualties, and the reappearance of Helena Bertinelli, daughter of now deceased mafia boss Frank Bertinelli –_ "

Laurel tipped the bottle upside-down, shook the last few droplets out of it, then tossed it to join the pile of its predecessors; maybe she should take out the trash soon.

"_Bertinelli, also known as The Huntress, is being described by eye witnesses as one of two women subduing the robbers and helping rescue the hostages – _"

Helena Bertinelli as a force for good? That was new.

Laurel turned the volume up as she took a good, long sip of her wine, giving the news report her full attention; it had been a while since her TV had buzzed with anything other than reports of theft, vandalism and murder.

"_The other woman in the rescue effort remains more mysterious, however, though speculation is already under way that she is someone we have seen in Starling before –_ "

Laurel sat up.

The report cut over to crime scene footage, giving a nice, wide view of Starling National Bank's structure being left bare, because all the glass that had covered its façade was scattered across the ground. Speaking over the zoom-ins, the anchorwoman related the witnesses' accounts of some kind of sonic blast.

The woman in black.

The woman in black who had helped The Arrow get away, by dropping in out of nowhere and holding up a device that she used to shatter every glass surface in the place.

Much like _she_ had shattered every glass surface at Queen Consolidated.

It'd been a month, and it was all she could think about. She'd tried to explain it away, write it off as a freak accident or something, but it had been _her_. She'd felt that pulse go through her. It had been her.

She had files upon files upon more files on her computer, all part of the painstaking, month-long effort to explain it; to explain how she had done it. All it had amounted to was opera singers breaking glasses with their voices. Which was all probably faked anyway. Nothing to explain what she had done.

But what the woman in black did, however she did it – it came close.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Two Weeks Later<em>**

"Another update from your girlfriend?"

Sara only spared her an annoyed look before turning back to her phone – a new, touchscreen smartphone, with its own customized OS and impenetrable cloud, courtesy of Felicity Smoak. Helena had been there when she'd given the phone to Sara, all bright smiles and animated hand gestures; she was only somewhat offended that she didn't get a phone, too.

"The latest is, there's some guys cooking up a new drug and putting it on the streets," Sara informed, dragging her finger along the screen. "One kid's already in ICU because of it."

"Which makes this crime-fighter bait number…five, this week?" Helena commented. "Pretty soon, she's gonna start making crime happen herself just so we'd have to take it on."

Sara sighed. "She misses this," she said. "The whole 'saving the city' thing."

"We didn't come here to save the city," Helena pointed out.

"No," Sara agreed, "but we've still been…putting in the hours, right?"

Helena pursed her lips. "One stopped bank robbery two weeks ago does not vigilantes make."

"You say that like it's the only thing we've done."

She did have her there.

"Fine," she relented. "And I take it Felicity gets to join in on the fun?"

"It's kind of why she's been sending us these alerts, so…yeah," Sara said, and Helena was learning that, much like she did for every person in her past, The Canary also had a particular kind of tone she reserved for one Felicity Smoak. It usually went hand-in-hand with a little smile at the corner of her mouth, that just bordered on happy.

"Great, looking forward to that," Helena deadpanned. "In the meantime" – she circled back for her bag, and the sandwiches and sodas she'd stashed there – "lunch."

Sara took her share of the food, lowering herself to the ground. "Maybe we should get a stove in here."

"We don't have electricity," Helena pointed out as she took her own seat on the ground.

"That's because we don't pay the bill."

"Are you suggesting we _rob_ a bank for a change to get the money to pay it?"

Sara actually seemed to consider that. "Well, no," she eventually dismissed the idea. "But maybe we should look into making this tower…suited for more permanent living arrangements."

"Right," Helena muttered, pursing her lips.

"Helena – "

"No, I get it," she said. "You want to stay here. It's pretty much what you've always wanted."

"And what _you_ never did."

To be a sitting duck waiting to get its neck wrung by Ra's al Ghul and his army of assassins, in a city whose every corner was etched with tainted memories? No, she didn't particularly want that. But hey… "_Chi si volta, e chi si gira, sempre a casa va finire._"

Sara smiled. "You know, Italian isn't one of my strong suits."

Helena smiled back for a moment, before she said, "It means that wherever you go, you will always end up back at home." She shrugged. "And so I did, I guess."

Sara nodded. "As did I."

And such a sweet homecoming it all was.

Still, Helena raised her soda can, bumping it with Sara's. "Cheers to that."

* * *

><p>"You sure you want to do this from your place?" Sara asked, getting up on the bike behind Helena. "Verdant has a better set-up."<p>

"_I've got all the firepower I need right here_," was Felicity's response, and Sara thought she sounded about as enthusiastic as she had ever heard her; she couldn't help but smile.

"Okay, then," she said, just as Helena revved the engine. "Where to?"

"_So, under other circumstances, I would've scored some of their stuff and tagged the money – 'cause money is like pigeons or something_," Felicity spoke into their earpieces over the noise of the bike; Sara was pretty sure she knew exactly what kind of expression Helena was sporting right about now. "_Since, you know, it always finds its back to top brass, like – no, it's probably not like pigeons, why am I thinking about pigeons? Is it pigeons? Anyway._" She cleared her throat. "_Because we don't have any of that, I went snooping around the PD's reports, got the address of where that poor kid in ICU bought this stuff, and then I hacked CCTV cams, and tracked the – _"

"Just tell me where to drive to," Helena interrupted.

"_Right. Uh, they're using one of the decommissioned buildings in the East Glades as a makeshift lab_," Felicity informed. "_About a block south from the old CNRI building. The police are too busy dealing with everything else, they don't go down there much these days. Makes it kinda perfect for an illegal drug-making lab._"

"And how many are we up against?" Sara spoke up, as Helena spurred the bike down the more secluded roads.

"_Peanuts_," Felicity said. "_Well, for the two of you anyway. Six guys, tops._"

It ended up being more like ten.

All cooped up in their little lab, and looking at the state of it, Sara wasn't surprised their stuff was making people sick. They were probably close to getting sick themselves, too; there wasn't even a proper ventilation system in the place.

She snuck up behind them, blocking a possible escape route, while her partner took the front.

"'Evening, boys," Helena said, stepping up to right where they could all see her, and drawing both her guns.

There was a predictable commotion among the men; two drew their own guns, a few wielded knives, and one just put his hands up. That one wasn't much of a hardened criminal, Sara supposed.

"What the hell do you want?" one of them demanded, just as another seemed to come to a realization and let out, "Wait, you're The Huntress."

Helena grinned, and pulled both triggers.

The men with the guns went down, yelling, and Helena kept moving forward, kept shooting, even as she kicked the dropped guns behind her, and sent half those still standing Sara's way.

She wielded her staff, sending one man flying into the dirty tables and jabbing another in the gut, before she spun around to slap the metal across his cheek. She tripped a third one, kicking her boot in his face to knock him out just as the last one came charging at her with a knife; she broke off her staff into its two halves, parried his blows, until his blade was out of his hands; she hit him across the stomach with one of her batons, on the back of the head with the other when he doubled over, and he joined his friend on the ground, unconscious.

When she straightened, she saw Helena kneeling next to one of the men, an arm across his chest and her crossbow at the side of his throat.

"I want to know where you got this stuff from," she demanded.

"Screw you," the man groaned back at her, and earned a jab of her arrow against his neck for his efforts.

"Look, you're not some big-time drug lord, and you're clearly not trying to make a name for yourself here," Helena said. "Your product, it's what desperate kids buy because they don't have the money for the good stuff. You're obviously not someone who's got the kind of high that will get him his own market, so" – she jabbed the arrow deeper – "I'm just asking you to tell me who set you up with this operation. Who gets their ten percent share of this little enterprise, huh?"

The man wasn't getting any more cooperative, though Sara surmised that would all change if Helena began using some of her more unorthodox methods of interrogation.

"_This stuff circulates just outside the Triad's territory_," Felicity's voice crackled in both their comms, and it sounded a little stilted to Sara's ears. "_Maybe they're expanding their business_."

Helena cocked her head, then looked down at the man with renewed interest. "Trust me," she told him, "the people you fear? I'm way worse than them." She smiled. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to start breaking your fingers, then your arms, then your legs, and then I'll pry out your kneecaps, and it's all going to hurt so much more than anything Chien Na Wei and her little knives can do to you."

Sara studied the man, from the way his eyes widened to the bobbing of his throat beneath Helena's arrow, and though he still said nothing, she was pretty sure they had their answer nonetheless. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what Helena was looking for.

"Thank you," she said, then knocked him unconscious with one sharp blow to the face.

"So, the Triad," she concluded, rising back to her feet. "Makes sense."

"_They have monopoly on most of the drug trade in Starling_," Felicity supplied.

"Mhmm," Helena agreed. "And hey, now we have another thing for China White to hold against us, right?"

"_Right_," Felicity echoed quietly.

Sara glanced over to Helena, giving her a pointed look; all she got in response was a shrug.

"How much time before the SCPD gets here?" she asked.

"_I'm sending them an anonymous tip right…now_. _You have about three minutes_."

"Copy that," Helena acknowledged, and Sara felt her come up at her side. "Got something else there, Birdie?"

Sara shook her head, sliding her hand over the small syringes, filled up with bleak green liquid, all lined up on one of the tables. "Ever see a drug that comes pre-packaged like this?"

"No," Helena said. "But given what a bad high it is, I'd say pre-packaging is the least they could do for their customers. And that's the PD's problem now anyway." She tugged on Sara's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>"Who're you?"<p>

Laurel dropped her briefcase onto the table separating her and one Anthony Reese. "I'm Laurel Lance, with the District Attorney's office."

"Ah, great," he sighed. "Look, I already told the cops everything I could, so – "

"I'm not here about the drug bust, Mr. Reese," she told him, taking her seat. "Well, I'm not interested in your operation, at least."

He frowned. "So…what do you want?"

"I want you" – she leaned in closer – "to tell me everything you can about The Huntress. Helena Bertinelli? She's the reason you're here, right?"

"Yeah, I told the cops everything about her, too. So, you know…go look at my statement."

Laurel raised an eyebrow. "Your statement is predictably lacking in information, what with it coming from a man who got beat up by a woman with a crossbow."

"Yeah well, there was two of them," he muttered.

"Two?"

He looked up at that, then narrowed his eyes. "Okay, say I tell you more than I told the cops," he said, "what do I get out of it?"

A bargainer. _Great_. "How about you tell me what I know, and I _don't_ make sure you get locked up for the maximum five years instead of the eighteen months you're looking at now?"

"Whoa, hey!" He raised his hands. "I gotta try and make the best of my situation here, you know?"

She said nothing.

"Right." He nodded. "So, Bertinelli, she comes storming the place, right, and she's got this other lady with her – I'm thinking it's the same one from the news, you know, the one that showed up at Starling National?" Laurel nodded. "So, The Huntress starts shooting my guys, and then she starts asking _me_ about who I work for and everything. Like, she wants to know who I answer to."

"And _who_ do you answer to?" Laurel asked.

"Nuh uh, you said you didn't care about that."

"You're right, I don't," she conceded. "Anything else?"

He shrugged.

"You know," she told him, "I could actually consider _shortening_ your sentence, if I hear something useful about Helena Bertinelli from you."

He seemed to mull that over, then nodded, looking over his shoulder before he leaned in closer. "I can't be sure," he said, "but there's rumors going around on the street – some of my guys, they say they've seen Bertinelli, like two or three times, breaking into convenience stores down in The Glades at night."

"Breaking into convenience stores?" Laurel deadpanned.

"It sounds way out there, I know, but I'm thinking that's how she gets by, right? For food and stuff?"

That –

Actually sounded like a good lead.

And where there was a break-in, there was usually also a police report, and a pattern that she could follow.

Laurel smiled at the man, getting to her feet. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Reese," she said, grabbing her briefcase off the table.

"What? No wait, you said you'd – "

She slammed the door shut behind her.


	18. III The City Down Below - Ch 2

_To Be a Bird of Prey_

**_Origins_**

**_III. The City Down Below_**

_Chapter Two_

"I bring foody gifts!"

Helena turned to the sound of Felicity's voice, where she was coming up to their tower for the fifth time in as many days. She was definitely taking advantage of their new open door policy.

But it made the little bird happy, because the smile on her face had grown wider as the clacking of heels up the stairs had gotten louder, and now, she was grinning. Because she had a thing for Felicity.

"I know you guys have been going by on stale sandwiches and Oreos, so I thought I'd bring you some nice and hot cooked meals for a change," Felicity went on, dangling three takeout bags in each hand and sounding like she was very much out of breath, "though they're probably not even hot anymore, 'cause it took me like ten minutes to get all the way up here – and side note: have you thought about an elevator for this place?" She scrunched her eyebrows there, then added, "Okay, you two probably don't need it, but maybe for visitors?"

Sara laughed, walking up to take the bags from Felicity's hand and hold them up for inspection. "That's a lot of food."

"More for leftovers?" Felicity proposed, grinning at Sara who was grinning at her, and Helena rolled her eyes.

"We don't have a fridge to put leftovers in either," she said

Felicity's face fell for a moment. Then brightened right back up. "I could get you some of those thermo baggy things that keeps stuff warm? And cold."

Of course she could. "We're fine," Helena assured flatly, earning herself a predictable look from Sara, before she took a peek into the bags. "That _is_ a lot of food," she commented.

"Right, yeah, I didn't know your preferences," Felicity explained, "so I got a little bit of everything. There's Chinese and Mexican, and there's some stuff from that Moroccan place next to QC that's just to die for – oh, and there's actually some Big Belly Burger in there too, since I figured, you know, maybe you're _really_ into sandwiches and grease and fries? Um, and…there's some...Italian, in there. Too."

Helena raised an eyebrow at her and the way she puckered her lips while lightly bumping her fists against one another, then nodded. It was a gesture. She could accept a gesture. She was gracious.

"Thanks," she said, taking the bag with the food meant for her and looking through the containers. "Though, next time," she added, "maybe try a little harder than _pasta_?"

So maybe she wasn't all that gracious.

Felicity's face fell again. "Right," she muttered.

Sara was giving her another look. Helena ignored her.

"Well, thank you," Sara turned to Felicity, all smiles again. "Really."

Felicity shrugged. "It's nothing. And, uh" – she shifted a little awkwardly – "I was thinking, if you don't have any plans tonight, I have a few criminal hotspots that could use your attention…if you want?"

"Yeah, of course," Sara agreed immediately, even squeezing Felicity's arm for a moment.

That perked little Ms. Smoak right back up. "Okay, great," she said. "Later, then."

She threw one last wave over her shoulder on her way down, and Helena was sure she'd heard her mumble something about heels and stairs, too, before the sounds faded. The moment they did, Sara whirled on her.

"Do you _have_ to be like that with her?" she demanded.

Helena shrugged. "If I start acting _nice_," she said, lowering herself to her favorite eating position on the floor, "she could take it as an invitation to actually move in."

Sara licked her lips – a sign of frustration – then just dropped to the ground with a sigh.

"But I'm guessing that's exactly what you want," Helena added, nodding.

Jabbing her chopsticks into a container of noodles, Sara said, "Felicity, she's – "

"The thing that makes your little bird heart sing, yeah."

"My _friend_," Sara corrected pointedly, and Helena could even agree with that label, if it didn't sound like shoehorning something into a box it didn't quite fit in.

But that was probably the easier way to go about it, when what used to make her little bird heart sing, or maybe still did, was in Nanda Parbat.

Or coming to kill them all.

She clucked her tongue. "Okay, I'm sorry," she apologized. "You like her, I know that. And you like this thing we've been doing with her, but…"

"You don't?" Sara guessed.

"It's not all bad," Helena admitted. "Going out every other night, doing what we do, I like that. And Felicity, she knows how not to get us killed. And yeah, fine, sometimes I like her, I think she's made of the same stuff we are. But then she says something and I remember that she's Oliver's girl." She shrugged. "And I can't trust that."

Sara looked down, twirled her noodles around for a bit, then commented, "She's trying, though. To not see us as Oliver and Diggle. And she's trying to bond with _you_."

"So, you're saying I should meet her halfway?"

Sara shrugged. "I think that'd be good."

"Fine, I'll try," Helena agreed. "But I'm not making any promises."

* * *

><p>The last time she'd been up here, it was on her knees with a sword looming over her head, ready to come down against her neck at any secon<p>

Not that any trace of that night remained still. Or of Oliver's presence in the office, really. Which, she supposed, wasn't all that hard to accomplish, considering he'd left no personal touch on it.

It was still as minimalistic as he'd left it, though. Mrs. Queen was just little better at color-coordinating it.

With the exception of a giant flower assortment at the corner of her desk.

Felicity took one last steeling breath before she tapped on the glass. "You wanted to see me?"

Moira looked up, a slight smile on her face. "Ms. Smoak," she greeted. "Yes, I've asked to have you sent up here. Have a seat, please."

Felicity sat down, smoothing down her skirt. "Well, I hope you're not about to ask me to be _your_ EA," she said, then winced. "I mean, 'cause I was terrible at it."

"Actually, you were pretty good," Moira told her, raising an eyebrow. "Especially considering you weren't qualified for the position."

Ouch.

"What I'm interested about is the position you _are_ qualified for," she went on. "I know that, since my son left, you've taken your old job back, down at IT."

Felicity swallowed. "I have."

"And I imagine it suits you, but I was wondering if you had thought to surpass it? Move up the ladder?"

"Wait, are you…offering me a _promotion_?"

"I am." Moira nodded. "To Head of the IT Department."

That just made –

Perfect sense, actually.

"Mrs. Queen, with all due respect," Felicity said, "I don't want any favors."

"Favors?" Moira echoed delicately.

Felicity sighed. "The thing is, I'm pretty sure you're offering me this promotion because I was" – she cleared her throat – "_friends_, with Oliver. Because you want to do a favor for someone he was close to, and I _especially_ think that because I know for a fact that Isabel hates me and that you'd need a good reason to fight her over giving me this position."

"Yes, Isabel is very much against the idea," Moira confirmed, her expression growing a little sour. "I'd wondered about her reasons, actually."

Well, her reasons probably went along the lines of resenting the hell out of the girl she'd thought had slept her way to the top, but no need to bring that up.

"And you're right," Moira added after a moment. "This is something I wanted to do for you as Oliver's…friend."

Always that little inflection on the word, Felicity thought. With everyone at QC. All the time.

"Which is not to say that I think you're not qualified for the position," Moira went on. "I know you are. You are actually _over_-qualified for your current position, and Walter" – she glanced at the flowers on her desk – "thinks being there _limits_ your potential in this company."

Felicity smiled. "Mr. Steele was always nice to me. And a charmer" – she grinned and nodded to the flowers, then winced again – "which is none of my business."

Oddly or not, Moira smiled, too. "Yes, the flowers are from him." She paused for a moment, then added, "For my birthday."

"It's your birthday?" Felicity let out, because it came but once a year, and Moira Queen's birthday usually generated much more buzz than – well, complete silence. Even when she was in _prison_.

"There's not much fanfare this year," Moira agreed, as if she'd read her thoughts. "I saw no reason to host a party, not when my son is away, again, and my daughter won't speak to me, unless it's to tell me she's moving out of the house." She blew out a quiet breath, then gestured to the flowers. "Walter thought these would cheer me up."

"I'm…sorry," Felicity offered.

It had to really suck to, out of your whole family, only still be on speaking terms with the ex-husband you'd helped keep imprisoned for months.

It also had to be that she was hearing about it for a reason.

"Mrs. Queen," she said, squaring her shoulders, "I get that…you'd want to have something to help fix your relationship with at least your son, which in this case would be getting _me_ a promotion, but…I don't think he's coming back. Not anytime soon. He will, just…not soon. And when he does, it…won't be for me." She shook her head. "So, if you want to get on his good side again, I'm not your way in."

Felicity was pretty sure she saw the exact moment Moira swallowed back her sadness, closing her eyes for just a little too long.

Eventually, she said, "Well, thank you for your honesty, Ms. Smoak." She nodded. "And my offer still stands."

"And I still don't want it," Felicity maintained. "To be honest with you, I'm not even sure I…want to stay at Queen Consolidated."

She didn't elaborate, but Moira still looked like she understood.

"In that case, I can provide you with a list of companies that might be looking for a woman of your talents, if you like."

Felicity considered that. "Yeah, I think…I think I could use that," she decided. "One of these days."

"Well, feel free to come to me when the day does come," Moira assured, and Felicity took that as her cue to leave.

"Thank you," she said as she rose from her chair, making her way out. "Oh, and uh," she added over her shoulder, offering Moira a slight smile, "happy birthday, Mrs. Queen."

Moira only nodded.

* * *

><p>"It's late."<p>

Felicity looked up, to find Sara smiling down at her. A glance back down to the laptop in her lap confirmed it was, in fact, late. Just after three in the morning. So, _really_ late.

"Yeah, I kinda lost track of time," Felicity admitted.

"Working on getting us _more_ furniture to spruce up this tower?" Sara teased lightly, lowering herself next to Felicity on one said piece of furniture. So, she'd gotten them a couch. No big deal. They needed it, really. A nice, big, purple couch. Though Felicity personally leaned more towards something on the pastel spectrum, when she'd inquired about color preferences, Sara had thrown a quick look in Helena's direction, and asked for purple. So, purple it was.

"It's just a couch," Felicity said.

"And a coffee table, and a desk, and a fridge," Sara ticked off the rest of it, nodding towards each one of the packages that still remained to be opened and assembled. Felicity was proudest of the fridge, actually. Because getting the fridge meant that she had also successfully tricked Power and Water's system into the thinking the electricity bills for this place were, in fact, getting paid.

She smiled. "Just wait 'til I get us a bed." _No, that's not right –_ "I mean, you and Helena, I wasn't counting myself in – I'm going to get you bed_s_, _plural_, unless you want just one bed, I can do that too – "

"Felicity," Sara grinned, "you don't have to get us anything else."

"I want to." Felicity shrugged. "Besides, I'm a pro at sprucing up vigilantes' lairs. I'll have you know that I managed to turn the foundry from rumble-and-shambles to Crime-Fighter Central on just two million dollars."

Sara ducked her head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "Okay," she eventually said, looking back up, "but for the record" – her smile softened – "you _should_ start counting yourself in this. Giving this tower a makeover, it…shouldn't be just for Helena and me."

Felicity bit her lip, taking a quick peek to the side, to Helena, where she was sitting on one of the unpacked boxes on her lonesome and, by the looks of it, removing bloodstains from her gear.

"What if I said this is me trying to buy my way in?" she asked quietly before dragging her eyes back to Sara, whose own were scrutinizing; after a beat, she nodded in understanding.

"You're already in, Felicity," she said, clear and steady.

Sometimes, she did feel like it. Others, not so much.

"I know it gets difficult to believe it, with Helena," Sara added, as if she'd read her thoughts. "But you have a place here." She paused before reaching out, pulling one of Felicity's hands away from the keyboard and taking it in hers. "You don't have to" – her mouth quirked at the corner – "_buy_ your way in here."

She wasn't going to cry. Nope.

"I'm still kinda butting in on your thing," she pointed out, quietly. "Feels like I have to" – _make myself useful_ – "earn it."

"Then consider it earned."

Felicity couldn't help but smile. Still… "Not sure Helena feels the same way."

Sara looked past her at that, sighing deeply before she focused back on her. "She appreciates it, all you've been doing," she said, "all _we've_ done for Starling, together. But she's also…untrusting."

"Yeah, well, if anyone should be untrusting of anyone here, it's me, considering she threatened then tied me up first time we met," Felicity grumbled.

Sara said nothing, just nodded, squeezing her hand.

Felicity held tighter in the ensuing silence, starting to feel drowsy when Sara began rubbing little circles into her palm, and letting her head fall against the back of the couch.

"You should go home and get some sleep," Sara commented softly.

And just like that, she was awake again.

"No, I'm fine," she declared, sitting back up and extracting her hand free in the process. "Besides, I should get back to this." She gestured to her laptop. "It's actually one of my facial recognition programs, but I'm tweaking it for our purposes, so it should be like, three hundred percent more efficient by the time I'm done, and when I upload it to – "

"Felicity."

She really needed to work on being a better liar.

She stilled her hands, looking over to Sara.

"You've been here a lot," Sara began, eyes steady and unwavering. "And if not here, then on the comms with us pretty much every night. I'm thinking all the hours you've been putting in aren't just about getting in on the action."

Felicity blew out a quiet breath, her eyes watering.

"I can't…really sleep," she admitted. "Lately. It's – I was doing okay at Digg's, you know, because he was there, but ever since I came back to my apartment, I just – " She cleared her throat, willing her voice to be stronger as she went on, "I keep having nightmares, or…hearing the floor creak and thinking it's China White coming to butcher me to death with her knives."

Strengthening her voice was a pointless effort because it broke on the last word, and then Sara was taking her laptop and putting it behind her, before winding an arm around her shoulders; Felicity went with the familiar motion, settling her cheek against Sara's shoulder.

Her eyes still stung but she didn't cry, taking a deep breath, then a second, before she said, "It's weird, because it's not like _that_ was the first time I'd been kidnapped or tied up or nearly killed or anything, and yeah, sure, I was jumpy and freaked out all the other times, too, but now it just…won't go away. And" – she gulped – "being alone is just really not fun for me these days, so I…spend a lot of time here." She chuckled faintly. "Guess I'm busted."

Sara huffed a small laugh in return. "You don't need an excuse, you know," she said. "If you want to stay here."

"I mostly just want to _not_ see horrible things every time I close my eyes," Felicity sighed. "Got any advice on that?"

"Not really," Sara said. "My nightmares never stopped."

"Mine did."

Felicity started at the sound of Helena's voice, twisting around to look over her shoulder; both the box and the leather lay abandoned as Helena stood halfway between them and the couch, seeming to hesitate for a second before closing the rest of the distance. Felicity tracked her movements in silence and with a frown, until Helena propped herself against one of the armrests.

"The nightmares," she said, "I used to have them all the time. For years. Ever since Michael died." Her shoulders grew stiffer there but she still added, "Because I was afraid. That I would fail, that my father would get away and I would have raised hell for nothing, that Michael would never rest in peace. But then I did find my father" – her eyes slipped to Sara for a moment – "and the nightmares stopped."

A gesture.

It was a gesture.

She was trying to be nice.

In her own special way, of course, because by 'find', she'd meant 'kill'; she'd quite literally stabbed her nightmare through the heart, and that just sounded like a terrifying nightmare in its own right.

"I couldn't do that," Felicity said. "Kill her, I mean. 'Cause that's what you're saying, right? That I should literally kill my nightmare?"

Helena shrugged. "Well, you are shacking up with two killers right now. If you want to keep _your_ hands clean…"

"I can't use either of you as henchwomen either," Felicity balked at the suggestion, though part of her felt as though she should be thanking Helena for the offer. "That's just – _no_."

"I thought you didn't have a problem with people killing for you?"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Hey, I'm just saying," Helena raised her hands in mock-surrender. "You didn't bat an eye when Sara and I snapped the necks of three Triad men for chaining you to a wall, and I heard about Count Vertigo dropping from the top of Queen Consolidated with two arrows in his chest. Somehow, I don't think Oliver had to crawl on his knees asking for forgiveness for that either, so…"

"That's different," Felicity said heatedly, moving away from Sara as she straightened.

Helena pursed her lips. "I'm still pretty sure that if someone pulled the trigger on Chien Na Wei right now, you wouldn't mind."

Felicity meant to fire back with something, anything, and found that she had nothing to do it with. So she swallowed, looking away. "No, I wouldn't," she admitted, pulling in a deep breath before she met Helena's eyes again. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to make it happen myself." She shook her head. "I can't do that."

Helena's eyes were narrowed, and studying, and she exchanged another look with Sara before she said, "You'd be surprised, by all the things you're capable of doing."

Sara's hand tightened on her arm, and when Felicity glanced over to her, she was looking at the ground, a crease in her brow.

"Yeah, I guess you guys would have some experience with that," Felicity commented quietly, getting Sara to look up.

She'd seen that sort of look before, on Oliver and sometimes John, the one that wasn't quite there in the present, and rather at some god-awful stop of an even worse memory lane.

Still, Sara offered her a faint smile. "You could say that."

Felicity pried Sara's fingers away from her arm, wrapping them in her own instead. "You're still more than what you've done." She looked over her shoulder, to Helena. "And so are you."

If the way her jaw went slack was any indication, Helena hadn't seen that one coming.

Felicity nodded slightly when Sara's eyebrows shot up, because it wasn't all that long ago when she was asking her to see Helena as more than what she had done, as she did the rest of them, and Felicity wouldn't hear of it. Because she couldn't understand her. Sara, and John, and Oliver, she understood them; people who had done what they had because they'd had no other choice. She couldn't understand Helena the same way.

She did mean it now, though.

Sure, Helena was all heads-through-brick-walls, and trigger-happy, and rude, and honestly, one hundred percent terrifying, and truth be told, Felicity still didn't get it, how someone ended up the way Helena was, but she could understand loyalty. Loyalty to Michael before, and to Sara now. _That_, she could understand.

And Helena seemed a lot more like an actual person now.

So, she turned back to her, shrugging. "I'm sorry for all the times I thought of you as just the patricidal, unhinged, psycho mob princess."

She could be wrong, but Helena looked like she might be stifling a smile. "Then I'm sorry for thinking of you as nothing more than Oliver's girl."

Felicity frowned. "Oliver's girl?"

"Takes one to know one," Helena was the one to shrug this time. "The point is, I see a lot of him in you. And not in a good way."

"You mean how I got carried away with the whole doing-things-our-way…thing?"

"Yeah," Helena said. "He liked to be the only one who gets to decide who lives or dies, too."

"That's not really…how that went," Felicity argued, though meekly.

Helena crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Felicity sighed. "Okay, yeah, he had his rules," she allowed, "and when they changed, so did our entire modus operandi, but…"

"You did things his way," Helena said. "And you still are."

"It's the only way I know how." Felicity shrugged. "Oliver and John, they were the only team I ever had, and…the way we did things, that's what I learned, what I know." When Helena began gearing up for a protest, she quickly added, "I know you're not them. I do. And I'm not trying to make you into them. Well, not anymore anyway." She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. "I always knew it wasn't going to be the same with the two of you, that it was going to be different than it was like with Oliver and Digg. I knew that, and I told myself I'd" – she chuckled – "_adapt_." She nodded. "The way I did with them, too."

Helena blinked, then really did smile as she looked over to Sara. "Guess I wasn't wrong about everything. You are made of the same stuff we are."

_Huh?_

"We adapted, too," Sara told her when Felicity directed her frown at her. "It's how we became killers."

"Oh. That doesn't bode too well for me, then."

Helena laughed this time.

It was short and quiet, and Felicity almost thought she'd imagined it.

"Well, this was fun," Helena said as she pushed herself off the armrest and onto her feet. "And now I'm gonna take a break from it and run to the store." Her leather rustled as she slipped it on. "For some baking soda, before this" – she gestured to a sizeable patch of dirtied leather on her gear – "becomes a lost cause."

"Baking soda?" Felicity asked. "Oliver always used the hydrogen peroxide we had lying around."

"Baking soda's better."

"Really?"

Helena hummed, then flashed her a grin. "You learn a lot growing up in the mob," she said as she went down the hatch and out of sight. The thump and clomp of boots down the stairs soon faded too, and Felicity was left with an odd feeling of happiness in her chest, the likes of which she had never thought she would associate with Helena Bertinelli.

She turned to Sara, and grinned. "I am in, baby, I am _in_."

"Okay, that 'baby' got away from me," she added after a second of mental playback. "Unless you're into that? Not that I'm – I mean, personally, it always creeped me out, 'cause I'm always picturing it coming out of this sleazy old guy's mouth, which obviously makes it weird that I'm saying it but – I'll just stop talking."

"Still cute," Sara said with a grin, all teeth and dimples.

Her dimples were all sorts of adorable.

And all the freckles.

And –

Oh God, she had a type.

And it involved lots of leather and blonde hair.

And really, really pretty bright blue eyes.

"Did you really mean it?" Sara asked next, her voice low. "What you said to Helena?"

What had she –

Oh right, _that_.

Wow, she really needed to stop getting distracted by pretty blonde vigilantes.

Anyway.

"Yeah," she said. "Turns out, you were right. She's more than just, you know, Oliver's psycho ex-girlfriend. Digg used to call her that. Anyway" – she shook her head – "I think she's growing on me."

Sara smiled. "I'm glad."

"Because you don't have to be the awkward middle woman anymore?"

"Yeah."

Felicity snorted.

"But also," Sara added, "because it means you'll be probably be here more often."

"You like having me around?"

Sara nodded. "I do," she said, simple and honest.

She was always like that with her, Felicity thought, and it was always almost surprising, because she was used to a man who had such a tight lock on his thoughts and feelings that getting to hear them felt like winning a battle; not Sara, though. She hid things, too, lots of things, but it was Felicity's experience that a simple question would get her a simple answer.

Maybe that was another thing that made Sara so amazing.

She was honest.

At least with her.

"I like having you around, too," she whispered.

Sara smiled again, slowly, until it had reached every part of her face, and Felicity felt a lot like leaning in closer.

And then birds started singing.

Literally.

Felicity bit back a smile at Sara's ringtone – birds, honestly – then forget what was supposed to be funny, because Helena's name was flashing across the screen and Sara was frowning.

"Helena?" Sara prompted as soon as she'd pressed 'answer', putting her on speaker.

"_Hey, Birdie,_" Helena's voice rang through the tower, sounding stilted.

"What's wrong? Are you in trouble?"

"_Not so much trouble_," Helena said, "_as a one-woman ambush._"

Felicity frowned. So did Sara. "An ambu – what woman?"

"_Laurel Lance._"


	19. III The City Down Below - Ch 3

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

**_Origins_**

**_III. The City Down Below_**

_Chapter Three_

It was true what they said.

Don't do today what you can leave for tomorrow.

Otherwise, you end up in a back alley, almost at the crack of dawn, with Laurel Lance pointing a gun at your back.

Helena turned to the barrel slowly, hands up in surrender for Laurel's benefit.

"You're a hard woman to find," Laurel told her, both hands on the gun, one finger hovering near the trigger. Helena looked her over; she'd changed since they last time they'd met. It was in the eyes, she supposed; the tiredness there.

"That's the idea," Helena quipped, lowering her arms back at her sides. "Are you here to bring me in, Laurel?" she asked. "Because it won't be that easy."

"Even if I did, I get the feeling your friend in black would show up to save you," Laurel said. "Like she did The Arrow."

Helena narrowed her eyes; this wasn't about her. It was about Sara.

"You're obviously part of her little circle now," Laurel went on. "I want you to take me to her."

Not a chance.

She could get out of this very easily, Helena thought. But Sara wouldn't forgive her if she put as much as a scratch on her big sister.

"I don't want to hurt you, Laurel," she warned, "but I will if you don't get out of my way."

Laurel only aimed the gun higher, right at her head. "I want to talk to her."

"So you can point that gun at _her_?"

"I just want to talk," she maintained.

Helena had some trouble believing that. "Why?"

Laurel seemed to hesitate, losing her focus for a moment; Helena moved her hand to her crossbow.

Eventually, Laurel said, "Something happened to me that I can't explain. But your friend, I think she could have some answers for me."

"She won't."

"I'll decide that," Laurel retorted, taking a step closer. "Now take me to her."

Helena shook her head. "Can't do that."

"Then call her!" Laurel demanded. "Get her here. I don't care how you do it, but I'm not letting you leave until I see her."

She could just pull that gun out of her hands, whip it against her skull, and be done with this. But Sara would kill her for it. And Sara would also want to help. If she saw her sister this desperate for some kind of answer, she would jump leaps and bounds over the city just to get to her.

"Fine," Helena agreed. "I'll call her."

She reached for her phone slowly, to show Laurel she meant no harm, then dialed.

"Put her on speaker."

She did.

Not a second later, Sara's voice came crackling through it, a little distorted, but Helena still saw Laurel's brow furrow slightly at the sound of it as she prompted, "_Helena?_"

"Hey, Birdie," Helena said.

"_What's wrong? Are you in trouble?_"

"Not so much trouble, as a one-woman ambush."

"_An ambu – what woman?_"

"Laurel Lance."

The name, as she knew it would, was met with a long, deafening silence.

Helena watched Laurel as it stretched, the way her face seemed frozen in a frown, and wondered how _she_ would feel if she were in Laurel's place, if she heard Michael's voice after all these years; if she would recognize it. Probably not.

"_What – what does she want?_" Sara eventually asked.

"To talk to you," Helena told her. "She thinks you have some answers for her."

Hoping that Sara would say no, that she would steer clear, was futile.

And sure enough, a moment later, she agreed. "_I'll meet with her._"

"Alright," Helena said. "Be here in ten."

Laurel didn't speak as she hung up then placed the phone back in her pocket, just kept staring at the spot where she'd held it.

"She just agreed," she muttered – mostly to herself, Helena supposed.

"Well, you're getting what you wanted," Helena commented dryly. "Perk up."

It almost seemed to have startled Laurel. She whipped her eyes to Helena, then to the gun she still had raised; she lowered it the next moment.

"I just…didn't think it would be that easy," she said.

Helena left her alone with her thoughts, let the minutes tick by, until she could hear Sara's bike in the distance. Laurel heard it, too, turning to it.

She jumped when Helena grabbed her arm.

"You called, she came," she told her, low but clear, "because she wants to help. There's no agenda, not for her. So I hope you're not trying to pull any tricks here either."

Laurel frowned, then seemed to come to some kind of realization. "You're protecting her."

Helena released her, pulling her mouth into a sweet smile. "She's my partner," she said simply, looking past her and down the alley.

Sara was coming towards them, quick then slower, more unsteady, and Helena bit back a sigh. She just nodded instead, and leapt up the nearest wall; family matters stayed in the family. Sara had respected that, for her, helping her deal with _her_ family the way _she_ saw fit. The least she could do was extend the same courtesy.

She only far enough away to keep out of sight – because yes, she _was_ protecting her partner – then called their little eye in the sky. "Tell me you've found a bird's eye view of this place."

* * *

><p>Laurel barely noticed Helena disappear from behind her, eyes locked on the woman in black.<p>

She'd never seen her from this close up, for this long. The black leather, the almost straw-like blonde hair, the way she walked; they were all that of a stranger.

"Hello, Laurel."

But _that_ voice…

She swore she knew that voice.

"Um, uh…hi," she found her own, stepping closer to the woman; the latter ducked her head when she came _too_ close.

"Helena said you wanted to talk to me," the woman spoke again. "That I would have answers for you."

"Yes, that's…that's what I wanted." The gun was still in her hand, still loaded, and she almost forgot she had it. She'd meant to approach this woman like she would a witness on the stand, be aggressive and direct until the answers came, with a gun to aid the process; she'd thought that would be the only way.

But the woman, she was…different.

She almost reminded of The Arrow, of the way _he'd_ behaved around her.

"I, uh – I was taken, by a man, a while back," she said. "Me and…another woman."

"I know."

"You do? Okay. Um, well, something happened – I _made_ something happen, and...I can't explain it." She swallowed. "But then I saw Starling National, after that robbery, and I remembered that…you did the same thing I did. With the glass. You shattered all of it…like I did."

The woman said nothing for a moment, before she reached for something at her belt; she held it out in palm of her hand. "I use this," she explained. "It's a sonic device."

"I know, but I don't have anything like that," Laure said, coming closer still. "I thought maybe…you used it to channel…something? Or…you knew someone who could…do this sort of thing without it?"

The woman shook her head. "I don't," she told her. "I'm sorry."

Laurel looked down, staring at that little device, and felt a lump rising in her throat.

She'd known it was a long shot; but it was the only thing she had. And now, there were tears burning her eyes.

She lifted her head, and found that the woman had done the same, that she was watching her from behind her mask; with piercing, bright blue eyes.

She swore she knew those eyes, too.

She stumbled back, turned away from – this woman, this stranger, she was a stranger, not –

"I can help you," she heard her call out after her. "I – I have friends, are they're good at…figuring things out, we can help you. We can help you find out what happened."

_Run_, she thought. She had to run. She had to get away from here.

"No, I'm – I'm sorry, I should…I should go," she tripped over her words just as she tripped away from –

"Laurel, it's me."

And suddenly there wasn't enough air in her lungs.

No, it wasn't –

It couldn't –

She still turned back, though it was hard to breathe, and her eyes were burning with tears, to see her come closer, and her hand rise to take off the mask.

"It's me, Laurel, it's Sara."

Sara.

Died on the boat.

Died on the island.

Didn't die at all.

She stood there – she stood _right there._

Alive, and breathing, and in a stranger's clothes, and looking at her with wet eyes, and she just –

She just came back.

"Laurel – "

She didn't even think. She just raised the gun. "Stay away!"

Sar – no, _the woman_, stopped, swayed on the spot like she'd been hit; like she was about to cry.

Her dead sister was crying in front of her.

And she just ran.

* * *

><p>"<em>Rooftop, south side<em>."

"Yeah, I see her," Helena said.

She disconnected the call with Felicity, crossing the space to where Sara sat on the ledge, head bowed and limply holding her mask and wig in her hands.

Helena didn't think there was much she could say, not after she'd just had her sister point a gun at her, so she just walked over and waited for Sara to talk.

When she did, it was a with a hollow, "My sister hates me."

And that was why she should have steered clear.

Still, Helena knelt in front of her, and put her hands over hers.

Sara sniffled. "I knew she did," she added. "I just…I guess I just wasn't ready to see it."

Helena sighed. "Go home," she said.

"No – " Sara shook her head. "Laurel, she's upset, I have to – "

"I'll make sure she's okay," Helena cut her off. "You need to go home."

"I'm not really home." Sara finally looked up, eyes brimmed with red. "And my family doesn't need me," she whispered. "You were right."

Helena closed her eyes. "Doesn't matter," she let the words out with a rush of air. "You need to get to the tower." After a moment, she added, "Felicity's still there."

It didn't cheer her up this time.

_Cheerless little bird_, she thought. "Okay," she muttered, lifting her hands to Sara's hair. She rolled it into a loose bun before reaching for the wig, pulling it in place as gently as she could; Sara barely moved.

"You can't be out here," Helena said and picked up the mask next, bringing it to Sara's face, then carefully pushing her fingers along the edges to make it stick. "There," she concluded. "Now go. I'll take care of Laurel."

Sara nodded, getting to her feet. Helena watched her until she jumped off to the next building, then the next one; she lingered for a moment longer, taking a deep breath, before she went off after Laurel.

She tailed her from the 24/7 liquor store to her apartment, going for the window when she went for the building door.

She was well inside the living room when Laurel came in.

Laurel took one look at her, tensed like she was about to fight, then simply deflated; Helena noticed her eyes were just as red as Sara's had been.

"Did _she_ send you here?" Laurel practically spat at her, throwing her keys and missing the bowl on the counter, before she shut the door with her foot.

"I volunteered," Helena said. "To make sure you don't do anything stupid, like drink all of" – she nodded towards the paper bag in Laurel's hands – "_that_."

Laurel let out a bitter chuckle. "Well, you can go," she dismissed. "I don't want you here. Or her."

"This wasn't how she wanted to tell you she was alive, you know," Helena told her.

Laurel whirled around at that, eyes flashing with anger. "Then how _did_ she want to?" she demanded. "_When_? Because it looks to me like she's been right _here_ for a while."

"I don't know," Helena said, "but I doubt any of her when's and how's included having you point a gun at her."

The jab seemed to have gotten to Laurel because she flinched, then reached for her gun and tossed it on the couch like it was on fire. She had her back to her now, but Helena still heard her take a deep, wet breath, and sniffle.

"You know, you're right," Helena told her. "About Sara having been here for a while. And she's been here because she said her family needed her – that _you_ did. And tonight, she told me I was right when I said you didn't." She shrugged. "Maybe you don't. But she does need _you_."

Laurel turned at that, eyes heavy with tears. "Really?" she challenged. "Because I've been right here the entire time. She's the one who – I mean, where was she? When Mom left, when she was looking all over the world for her, when Dad started drinking, when The Undertaking happened, when I lost Tommy, when I almost died because she didn't– _where the hell was she_!"

The bottles shattered right in her hand.

And the glass on the coffee table.

And the picture frames on the dresser.

Drops of red – wine, Helena assumed – dripped down from the tattered bag she still held, but for all the yelling she was doing a moment ago, Laurel was really quiet now, staring at the broken pieces on the ground.

Well.

Her bird song definitely packed a bigger punch than her little sister's.

Maybe that was because it came from _inside_ of her.

"Well," Helena broke the silence, "there's something I've never seen before."

Laurel sobbed.

She brought a hand to cover her mouth so the sounds came out muffled instead, but they still filled the place, and the tears still ran down her cheeks.

There was nothing Helena could do about that.

So she walked over to the knocked-over broken picture frames instead, and picked up the one that had drawn her attention; Quentin Lance, a little blonde girl, and a black bird in a gilded cage.

"Sara's the one who should tell you everything," she said, "but…this is her, right?"

The question seemed to have distracted Laurel from her misery, if only for a second, because her crying stopped, and her head jerked in nodding.

"Yeah, I thought so," Helena smiled. "You know, around here, people call her the woman in black but, _where she was_…she chose to be called The Canary. And I'm thinking" – she tapped her finger against the picture – "it's because of this."

"The Canary?" Laurel echoed, low and rough.

"Why do you think I call her 'birdie'?"

Laurel smiled at that, just the tiniest bit.

"When I first met her," Helena went on, "she told me she'd chosen it because it held a lot of meaning for her." She chuckled, handing the frame over for Laurel to hold. "Should've figured it was about her family."

Of course, it wiped the smile right off Laurel's face; she stared down at the picture with a frown now, but when Helena spoke again, she clutched it to her chest.

"She never forgot you," Helena said. "That's one of the first things she told me, too. That she never let herself forget her family. And from the looks of it, you haven't let yourself forget her either. And, uh, your little problem there" – she gestured to her throat – "isn't going away either, and I'm pretty sure there's no one out there who's more willing to help you figure it out than Sara. So…think about it."

Laurel gave her an odd sort of look. "Since when do you…_care_? About – any of this?"

"I care about Sara," Helena said. "And she cares about you, so…" She shrugged.

Laurel had nothing further to say after that.

There, Helena thought. Her work here was done.

But before she left…

Laurel didn't object – didn't move an inch, really – when Helena rummaged through her kitchen. "I'll take this," she informed, holding up the baking soda she'd found, "since you're the one who interrupted my groceries shopping." She went back to the window. "And when you're done being angry with your sister," she added when she was halfway out, "you know where to find me."

* * *

><p>Vigilantes huddling in corners in the dark needed their space.<p>

Well, Oliver did. And she never _really_ gave it to him. But still. She should just stay here on her couch and chew her nails, and leave Sara alone.

And she was terrible at that.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Sara still answered, just loud enough to be heard.

She had her back propped against the wall just below the broken clock face – they really needed to get that fixed – with a gust of wind blowing her hair out every once in a while

"Look, I know this has to be terrible," Felicity tried again, stepping closer. "I mean, first time you talk to your sister in what, six years, and she points a gun at you – "

"She hates me," Sara cut in, looking up. "And I knew she did – how could she not? She has so many reasons to. But I guess I still…" She shrugged. "I guess part of me always hoped that…she would be happy to see me."

Felicity sighed, crossing the tower all the way, and lowering herself to the floor next to Sara.

"I still don't think she hates you," she said. "And that's not a platitude, I'm not just saying it 'cause I think it might make you feel better," she added before Sara could accuse her of doing exactly that, "but I really don't think she hates you. She's definitely angry, but…she doesn't hate you."

"The thing is," she went on, "it's hard being angry with someone who's not there." She swallowed. "I mean, they did this terrible thing to you and then they were gone, and you've got all that anger inside of you, but then you also have to grieve, and you can't do that because you're angry, but you can't really be angry either because…they're gone. So when she saw you tonight, when you weren't gone anymore…I'm guessing it was the first time she could just feel angry."

Sara didn't say anything for a while, until she asked, "Is that experience talking?"

"Sort of," Felicity admitted. "My dad, he…left when I was a kid. Left me and my mom. And I don't know where he is, he could be dead. I mean, I could find out pretty easily, but I'm just never able to, and – okay, we're not talking about my issues right now, so the point is" – she turned her head to the side, to look at Sara – "I kind of get what Laurel's been feeling, all these years. It's not the same, but…I think the principle applies. And I haven't seen my dad in like, twenty years, but when or if I did…I think all I could be is angry, too."

Sara nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered.

"Which isn't to say you don't get to be angry and upset, too," Felicity told her. "She did, you know, pull a gun on you. And you've been waiting all this time to see her – somehow, I don't think this was how you envisioned it, or wanted it to go, but I think, if you give her a day or two, she _will_ be happy to see you."

Sara kept her eyes on her for a long time, with a few more tears pooling at the corners. Eventually, she just said, "Thank you."

Felicity gave her a little smile, then shrugged it off. "What are girlfriends for?"

Oh, there she went again.

"And by that I mean _girl_ _friend_," she quickly added, "separately, as in a friend that is a girl, not – " She sighed. "You know what, you should just get used to this."

Sara laughed.

It was choppy and kind of scratchy, but she was laughing, letting her head fall back against the wall.

But then Helena was coming out through the hatch, and Sara's laughter died away in two seconds flat.

"How is she?" the question was out of her mouth even quicker.

"Not that great," was Helena's reply. She took a moment to raise an eyebrow at them, where they were huddled together on the floor, and if Felicity wasn't mistaken, she also threw a funny kind of look in there, just for Sara. But it went away as quickly as it had come. "She's got a drinking problem, from the looks of it," she said next, discarding pieces of leather as she went – and a pack of baking soda; Felicity refrained from asking where she'd gotten that.

"And that's not even her biggest problem," Helena went on, "because the booze she picked up on the way home? She blew it right out of her own hand. With her voice."

"I was right," Felicity let out, turning to Sara. "She did break all the glass at QC with all the…screaming."

"I've never seen anything like it," Helena said. "I'd say it's impossible, but…"

"There are more impossible things," Sara muttered.

"Yeah," Helena agreed, walking up to them before she lowered herself on the ground, too, on Sara's other side. "Like that guy who's been running around Central City."

"Yeah, but he got his powers from the STAR Labs particle accelerator explosion."

Both heads turned to her.

Felicity pursed her lips. "Did I mention that I know him?"

"Is there like a secret vigilante club that sits around campfires on Wednesdays or…?" Helena wondered, just as Sara asked, "Any chance it affected Laurel, too?"

"No." Felicity shook her head. "I mean, the – okay, this is like semi-confidential stuff, but the effects were contained to Central City. All the meta-humans – "

"_Meta_-humans?"

"That's what we're – _they're_ calling them," Felicity said. "And by 'they', I mean the Central City guys. You know, the…guy who's been running and vigilante-ing there. And his people. He calls himself The Flash, actually. _Anyway_. Only the people within the blast radius were affected. The blast was contained to Central City, and I know for a fact that Laurel was right here in Starling when the accelerator blew."

"So it's something else," Sara concluded.

"Has to be. Although…"

"Although – what?"

"_Although_," Felicity grinned, "if anyone is ever going to figure out where Laurel's abilities are coming from, it's The Flash and his team. I make one call, and we'll have a full molecular breakdown of Laurel's DNA super quick – in a flash, as it were."

Sara didn't seem to be in much of a joking mood; Helena did crack a smile, though.

"So, when she comes to you," Helena told Sara, "we actually have a good offer to make her."

Whipping her head towards Helena, Sara quietly echoed, "_When_ she comes to me?"

Helena nodded. "Give her a little time," she said. "But she'll be back in that alley waiting for us – for _you_, in a day or two."

Sara let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as her head bobbed up and down in a nod; Felicity reached out to squeeze her had.

"Well…_when_ she does," Sara said, squeezing back, "I need to make sure I'm not making empty promises."

"I'll get on it," Felicity promised. "Well, in the morning," she amended. "Or…_later_ in the morning." She sighed. "'Cause right now, I'm so tired, I could sleep for a week."

Helena snorted. "Couch's all yours."


End file.
